the luggage cart approached, and Cal had time to assimilate the surprised faces of several taxi drivers on the pavement as they charged through the gap and out into the open air.
“Now!” He dived off one side and saw Stella go the other way. The cart made a startled whirring noise and ground to a halt in the middle of the road, causing a minibus to swerve around it. Leaping to his feet, Cal grabbed Stella’s hand. “You okay?”
She nodded and they broke into a run. Cal decided that making for the train or bus station within the airport complex would be too dangerous. Better to get away from the area completely and find another way into the transport system.
The pavement sloped away from the airport building and they were close to a multistory parking ramp when the two sidhes disguised as police officers emerged from its entrance. Cal looked over his shoulder. If they turned back, the dozens of sidhes in the arrivals hall would be waiting for them.
He stopped. The sidhes were mere feet away. Twin smiles lit their fiery eyes. They took several steps closer.
Cal raised his hand. “Fýrwylm.”
Flames shot from his fingertips toward the sidhes, showering them with sparks. Their smiles disappeared and were replaced by wary looks.
“That the best you’ve got, galdre?” Although the sidhe licked his lips nervously, he took a step closer.
“No. He’s got me.” Stella placed her hand over Cal’s. “What do I need to do?”
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, grinning down at Stella. “Think with me. Match your thoughts to mine.”
He could see the concentration on her face. Her brow furrowed with the effort. Then he felt it. A surge of power, like a jolt of electricity, pulsed through Cal’s body. This time when he raised his hand, together with Stella’s, the bolt from his fingertips resembled a flamethrower. He had known she would be strong, but this was beyond even his expectations.
“Fýrwylm.” Stella repeated the word he had used, and the flames burned even brighter. Muttering, the sidhes shrank back. “What language am I speaking?”
“Anglo-Saxon, the oldest form of the English language.” Cal led her forward, clearing their way by spreading a circle of fire ahead of them.
“How do you say bastard?”
Cal started to laugh. “It was the same word then that it is now. Or you can say dóc, which means illegitimate mongrel.” He didn’t add that he’d been called that himself a time or two over the centuries. Usually by Moncoya.
“Okay. Fýrwylm, you sidhe bastards.”
There were shouts now from the airport building and the sound of sirens. The two sidhe police officers had disappeared.
“Time to go.” Cal urged Stella into a run again. There was no way he wanted to have to explain what was going on to a genuine police officer.
“Did I really just do that?” Stella held her hand in front of her face, studying it as she ran.
“You did.” He looked back to see police cars and fire engines converging on the multistory parking ramp.
“What else can I do?”
“Let’s get away from here to somewhere safe. Then I can show you.” He smiled down at her, catching her hand and pulling her through a hedge into a field. “Or maybe you can show me.”
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