Phoebe Wren and the Vortex of Light (21 page)

Several weeks ago, Jack had carefully selected and pre-booked his family’s seats on flight 454 back home to Ireland. Ever the pragmatist, he had figured that a long haul flight like this would be more comfortable with extra leg room, so he had booked two sets of two seats next to the central emergency exits. He had been relieved to find that they had been able to secure exactly the same seats on their rearranged flight, but the irony of sitting next to the emergency exit was not lost on Phoebe as she took her seat next to Demetrius, just across the aisle from her parents.

“Excited, Love?” Eva leaned forward from her window seat and smiled over at Phoebe, who was busily hauling and tugging at her already fastened seat belt. “Oh… okay, maybe I should ask, ‘
nervous?
’” Eva joked as she watched her daughter tighten the buckle with intent. “What are you like, Phoebe? Anybody would think you were a nervous flyer!”

Phoebe realised that her behaviour looked somewhat erratic and conscientiously let go of her seat belt buckle and relaxed her entire body, starting with her wrinkled up forehead and finishing with her curled up toes.

“Sorry Mum,” she said, forcing herself to smile at Eva. “Just checking. You know what they say… uh, safety first!”

Eva smiled back at Phoebe then leaned back in her seat, a half-read novel in her hand. Next to her, Jack fastened his own seat belt, shuffled back in his seat, then reached into his hand luggage and pulled out his iPad. The sight of Eva’s book and Jack’s tablet were reminiscent of the family’s flight on Thursday 15
th
July, and caused a sickening knot to twist in Phoebe’s stomach. She didn’t want any part of this flight to resemble the first time round, so she tentatively suggested that Jack would have to stow his iPad in preparation for takeoff.

“Okay bossy girl!” Jack teased. “Are you going to jump up and demonstrate how to use the oxygen masks next? Ah, I’m only kidding sweetie, and you’re right anyway, I’ll put it away until we’re airborne.”

This small and seemingly insignificant victory put Phoebe at ease, and she watched until her father had put away his tablet and engaged his wife in conversation, then she heaved a sigh of relief and settled back into her seat.

“It’s okay you know, Bird.” Demetrius had done it again – interpreted her jittery behaviour and found the right words to calm her down. “We’re almost there, we made it on to the aeroplane despite the best efforts of Schnither and his minions. Now we have to trust Cosain and the other angels. They know what they’re doing, Phoebe, we can rely on them.”

Demetrius gave Phoebe’s hand a quick squeeze, then fastened his own seat belt and sat back in preparation for takeoff. Demetrius had never flown before, and Phoebe marvelled at how calm he remained – a new experience like this would have put her on edge
without
the additional threat from unearthly monsters!

The last of the passengers blustered up the steps and on to the aeroplane and Phoebe smiled to herself as she thought how she and her parents must have looked first time round when they clambered aboard at the last minute. She was glad that, so far, things had been different; it encouraged her that the rest of the flight could be different too – she needed it to be
totally
different.

“Cabin crew prepare for takeoff.”

The pilot’s voice sounded over the intercom, and Phoebe sensed the old familiar pull of déjà vu. She gripped on to the arms of her seat and closed her eyes.

“Please Abba…” Her prayer was simple, uncomplicated, direct. “Please, get us home. Don’t let this plane crash. Give Cosain and the others the skills and the strength they will need to help us. And thank you for your love and provision for us.”

The cabin crew had secured the doors for takeoff and were strapping themselves into little fold away seats facing backwards down the aeroplane and towards the passengers. Ground crew removed the chocks from underneath the plane’s tyres, and it lurched a little as it began to move, then taxied smoothly towards the runway. There was a momentary pause before Phoebe heard the engines roar to life and the aeroplane gathered speed until it was hurtling down the runway, heading for the sky. She felt the plane’s wheels leave the tarmac of the runway and held her breath until she was certain that the tail had cleared the ground and they were officially airborne, then she allowed herself to relax just a bit and loosened her grip on the armrests. She opened her eyes and found Demetrius, head tilted towards her, with a look of unmistakable amusement on his face.

“Hey!” she protested. “It’s not funny you know, Dem!” She punched him gently on the arm and he winked back at her.

“I know, Bird, I’m only teasing. But you’ve got to admit, you’re kinda up tight! If anything it should be
me
having a little meltdown!”

Phoebe had to admit that he was right, and forced herself to settle down, choosing to believe that the angelic warriors had her back. Besides, they were heading for thirty thousand feet, there was no backing out now – like it or not, she, Demetrius, Jack and Eva were in this for the long haul. As Africa disappeared below her, Phoebe put her head back against her seat and closed her eyes.

“That’s it Captain Schnither sir, it’s practically a done deal! We should make tracks after that plane. Abaddon will expect our report sooner rather than later you know.”

Craven, a tall, lean and entirely unlikeable creature, leaned forward and hissed his forceful suggestion in Schnither’s ear. Schnither was perched like a giant pulsating gargoyle on top of the airport’s terminal building, and he tensed visibly when Craven spoke. Everything about this demon bothered Schnither, from his serpentine features to his inability to respect personal space, to his horrible tendency to be
right
about everything. Most of all, Schnither resented the fact that Abaddon had made such a big deal about assigning Craven to this mission – did he not know that Schnither was more than capable of getting rid of a few measly humans by himself? He shuffled his sullen form a few inches away from Craven so that the foul monster’s breath was no longer on the back of his neck, then he turned to face him.

“We will go,” Schnither said slowly, “When
I
deem it time. This is
my
team,
my
mission, I am perfectly capable of giving the command.”

Craven looked startled for a brief moment, then the arrogant creature realised that he had rattled Schnither’s cage, and the thought delighted him.

“Oh Captain,” he goaded as he raised one sarcastic eyebrow, “
Of
course
I know that you are the boss here. I am sure that Abaddon only despatched me as back up; I doubt very much that my selection had anything to do with your past, shall we say,
not entirely successful
attempts at putting a stop to the Wrens’ shenanigans.”

Schnither’s fury was rising in his chest and sulphurous yellow smoke began to seep from his nostrils. Craven had not worked alongside Schnither before, and did not know when to stop pushing, and so he continued to provoke Schnither with his sarcasm and thinly veiled demeaning comments.

“You know, Captain, historically Lord Abaddon has assigned me to lesser ranking demons than you. I tend to be despatched to sort out the messes created by those who don’t know better and aren’t really capable of efficiently executing their missions.” He paused to ensure that what he was implying was sinking in. “But I am sure that this is the exception to that rule…” Craven’s sinuous face wrinkled into a jeering smile, his thin yellow lips curling upwards cruelly.

Schnither had had enough; he rose suddenly to his full imposing height and Craven realised too late that his captain was in fact a foreboding menace, even minus one arm and one ear. At over seven feet tall, Schnither towered a good foot above Craven, and was almost three times the skinny demon’s girth.

“Uh, Captain, Sir. I…” Craven stammered but was not quick enough to find clever words to appease Schnither. The rest of the demonic troop had ceased their chatter and all eyes were now fixed on what was about to befall Craven.

“
I
am the Captain of this troop,” Schnither hissed menacingly as Craven cowered beneath his wrath. “And you…
you
will respect that at all times. If you cannot do that, there will be consequences, and they will be
severe
. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Sir, abundantly clear,” mumbled Craven, whose terror now threatened to give way to rage and indignation at this public humiliation.

“
What was that?
” roared Schnither. “Speak up! We cannot hear you!”

“Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir. There will be no reoccurrence. You have my word.” Craven had no choice but to concur, but his pride had suffered a hefty blow and he silently vowed vengeance on this jumped up, self-important beast.

“Ah, well if I have your
word
…” Schnither snarled at his subordinate with loathing in his red eyes. “But just to be sure…” And with that he raised his remaining arm and rained several punches down on Craven while the other demons cheered and clapped with euphoria.

“Silence you buffoons!” Schnither’s roar sounded above the furore. “A commotion like that will alert all of nature and humanity to our presence! Be
quiet!
”

Instantly, the pandemonium settled and there was a reverential hush across the assembled demons. This collective and unquestioned obedience pleased Schnither, and he proudly stood tall and puffed out his chest.

“Now,” announced Schnither, with his ego suitably inflated, “
Now
we make our move. We will wreak havoc on that flight – we will cause terror before we bring destruction. We will prolong their anguish! But…” He paused for dramatic effect and was delighted to find every ghoulish wide eye focused on him. “
But
, the final severing of the fuel lines will be my privilege, and mine alone – anyone who even goes
near
it will pay with their lives! Is that understood?”

“Yes, Captain Schnither!” The resounding reply was a deafening roar, and Schnither revelled in the control he had over the scraggly yet dangerous and unpredictable troop before him.

“Good,” he said quietly, “Now,
to battle!
” And with that rallying cry, there was a frenzied flapping of wings as the demonic battalion took to the air en masse, bustling and clashing against each other in an egocentric effort to impress Captain Schnither, who flew ahead of the troop in the direction of Araco Airlines flight 454, which by now was a mere speck on the horizon.

On the other side of the airport, Cosain and his angelic brothers materialised from behind a disused storage building. The seven warriors were an imposing sight, regal and fearsome, in full battle regalia, and with glowing swords at their sides. They watched as the tangled cloud of black wings and scaly bodies grew smaller with distance, knowing their destination.

“It is time, brothers,” Cosain’s voice was earnest, his chiselled features sombre. “This will be a decisive battle, we cannot afford any error.”

As one, the seven angelic warriors unfurled their wings of brilliant white and took to the skies in pursuit of the demonic horde. They would not let the Atoner down – and they would not let Phoebe Wren down. Her life depended on them.