The Demon Signet Read Free Page B

bit so that she could get a glimpse of Heather for herself. She sighed, defeated by her own helplessness in the situation, and said, “It shouldn’t be too much longer. If it’s an emergency—”
    “No,” Heather interrupted, opening her eyes. She forced a smile and tucked a few strands of blond behind an ear, freeing them from Ashley’s petting. “No, I’ll be fine. Thank you, though.”
    “Are you sure?” Ian asked. “Maybe—”
    But she waved him off. “Please,” she whispered, “it’s embarrassing enough without having to be rushed off on a stretcher in front of all these people.”
    So Ian thanked the stewardess, releasing her from their plight.
    The woman, dressed in the airline’s proper attire—red skirt neatly pressed, red vest over white satin, and a nametag reading JOY—walked toward the cockpit, circumnavigating the flying complaints flung by an uneasy clientele. Things were starting to get ugly.
    “Hey, why don’t you just leave her alone,” Ian hollered at the angry mass. “It’s not her fault.”
    “Hey, pal, ya wanna ssstep ousside?” a voice came back.
    “Oh, pleassse,” Ian mocked.
    “Wasssat ssuposta mean?”
    Heather could make out a form rising across the aisle and laid her head down on Ian’s shoulder. She loved her fiancé’s willingness to stand up for the innocent, though she’d never actually witnessed him in a fight—and she wasn’t going to witness one now, not without the air marshall’s handcuffs coming out.
    Someone else tossed an obscenity-strung command at the man, telling him to shut up and sit down. That freed Ian from the man’s crosshairs, his aim shifting to the new target.
    “We need to get off this plane soon, or the marshall’s gonna have a riot on his hands,” Marcus said. He put one of his caramel-colored arms around Ashley as she leaned back into the seat beside him.
    Heather tried to concentrate on her breathing, to convince her mind that she wasn’t going to suffocate, that her feelings weren’t an accurate portrayal of the truth. She let her imagination run wild with Marcus’ statement, enjoying for a second the unfolding of such a scene, though interpreted as more of a comedic stunt rather than a horrific blood-splattered frenzy. But it was a short distraction, and she was beginning to think a stretcher ride would be worth it if it got her off the plane. “Does anyone even know where we are?”
    “Adirondack Regional Airport,” Ian answered, squeezing her hand and thumbing the rock he’d placed on it a couple months ago.
    Marcus turned his gaze out the window. “The middle of nowhere.”
    The scene beyond the plane held the afternoon sun in blankets of snow clouds, the mountains barely visible in the distance.
    “It’s beautiful,” Ashley said. But the sight didn’t dispel her concern for Heather, and she didn’t linger on it long.
    “We’ve been sitting here for,” Marcus looked at his watch, a stainless-steel chronograph with a floating compass, “sixty-eight minutes. This plane isn’t getting back in the air anytime soon.”
    Ian looked over Heather’s head, which was nestled cozily beneath his stubbly chin, and remarked, “I don’t see any other commercial airliners.”
    Marcus had his iPhone out in a flash. “Albany International is three hundred miles away. Don’t think they’re coming to help us.”
    “Which means,” Ian concluded, “we’re stuck here until the plane’s fixed.”
    “I wonder how long that’ll be,” Ashley muttered more to herself as she checked back into the argument unfolding across the aisle. The drama of the conflict had recruited a few more participants. “The captain better tell us what’s going on.”
    Indeed, no one knew why their flight to Dulles was parked in the middle of the mountains, though a few scrambling mechanics running about outside the plane did offer a hint.
    As if right on cue, the captain’s voice came slicing through the backdrop of garbled protest, and