Airports were never her favorite of places. Unlike the travelers milling around in anticipation of their boarding calls, Lauren Lewis did not tingle with the anticipation of arriving upon sandy beaches, or imagine the awe of lingering in the light and shadows of ancient monuments or cobbled, centuries-worn streets. The roar of jet engines triggered memories of the march to death or the march of life, if one was so lucky to survive the war zones she had known littered with dusty, sunken eyes and fields of ash and agony. Airplanes and airports reminded her not of homecomings or vacations. They were the stuff of nightmares and although this particular airport, filled with roll-aboards, tuneless piped-in music, neon-lit magazine stands, shelves bowing under the weight of chocolates and digestive aids—all the things the smart traveler should have handy at their seat—Lauren’s mind did not give into the cheerfulness of her surroundings. She would not be distracted from her mission: to get as far away from the Fae and as fast as her human skills could take her.

She felt the weight of a body drop into the plastic seat next to her. Lauren spied a familiar pair of black, high-heeled lace-up boots next to her legs. Without looking up, she greeted her, “Glad you could make it. We’re only boarding in about ten.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I had all that much time to pack. Fast and Furious best describes this getaway, hey, Dr. Lewis?”

Lauren turned her head toward her companion, a modern courtesan dressed all in black, poured into a corset and topped with a Goth attitude—the doctor’s eyes rolled over her with a mix of admiration and melancholy. ”You know this person will no longer exist once we get to the other side of the pond,” she smiled, more with fatigue than relief or happiness. ”And you, Kenz, will have to do some re-inventing yourself.” She turned her head away from her friend, “We both do.”

Kenzi dropped her head, her hair falling over her face like a curtain and hiding bloodshot eyes. “One thing at a time, Doc. And for the record,” she thrust her index finger upward, ”I do not do khaki.” Several announcements boomed overhead through the airport speaker system and Lauren barely heard the words Kenzi spoke under the din. Maybe she intended to say something comforting or utter a curse word in Russian. The slump in Kenzi’s shoulders said everything. Lauren responded by very gently resting her palm on the back of Kenzi’s hand, tapping her fingertips lightly as if she were beating and repeating a secret code, It’ll be all right. Tap. It’ll be all right. Lauren slowly released her hand and to her surprise, Kenzi reached for it and brought it back to the armrest and squeezed it back, holding on, holding on.