“If men were meant to fly, they’d have been born with wings,” Christian said. He stood on the edge of the tarmac and eyed the gleaming DC-5 with distrust.
Angel arched one eyebrow and levitated a coin briefly above his palm. “Or fairy dust.”
Even after six centuries (during which Christian had mostly been asleep, but the principle still applied) a poke at his inhumanity never failed to make him blush.
“We’re called Quislai,” Christian said huffily.
“But you can fly,” Angel said.
“No I can’t. Not really.”
“Well, Quislai can fly.”
“I stand by my statement,” Christian said.
“Then maybe you’re right, but...then that means you’re not really a man, are you?” Angel grinned.
“I am too a man. Just not a human one,” Christian said stiffly. He curled his hand around the handle of his suitcase.
“Well then, man up and let’s get this show on the road. Come on – your first commercial passenger flight. There’s nothing to worry about. If the plane starts to fall out of the sky, you and I are guaranteed to survive.” Angel clapped Christian on the shoulder and started toward the airplane. An attractive young woman in a smart uniform - they called them stewardesses - stood at the top of the metal stairs, waiting to greet him.
Christian took a deep breath, then followed. He really didn’t have a choice. And maybe he would learn something in this place called Egypt where Angel had once lived before. Maybe he would learn more about Angel...and her.
(261 words)
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