“A Glitch. They hate technology.” Understatement of the year.
He must have decided that anything was worth trying, because he motioned me in. I crawled into the cockpit and braced myself against the wall. The view outside the windshield was dizzying—sea, sky, sea, sky—as the plane seesawed. I focused on the instrument panel. A fountain of sparks shot from its center, showing the Glitch’s location. I dug the hairspray from my pocket and leaned forward.
“Is that hairspray?” The copilot clearly thought he’d let a lunatic into the cockpit.
“This? Um, no,” I lied. “It’s a magical Glitch-fighting elixir. I put it in a hairspray bottle to get it through security. You never know when a Glitch might strike.”
Aiming at the sparks, I pumped a dozen quick squirts at the instrument panel, praying it would work.
I held my breath. Nothing changed.
Then a blast of sparks erupted from the instrument panel, and the plane took a nose dive.
“Shit!” shouted the pilot. “I can’t hold it!” We screamed straight toward the ocean. The plane shuddered like it was breaking apart.
With a loud pop and a stink of ozone, grapes, and rotten fish, the Glitch sprang from the instrument panel. It landed in the lap of the copilot, who screamed and shook as a couple thousand Glitch-volts zapped him. The demon slashed the man’s face with its claws and ran from cockpit. I nailed it with more hairspray as it leapt over me. It howled with rage and took off down the aisle.
The pilot pulled the plane out of its dive. Slowly, groaning, the plane began to climb.
I ran after the Glitch.
The hairspray had forced the Glitch to materialize in daylight, and it wasn’t happy about that. It leapt around the cabin, landing on seatbacks, on the floor, on people’s heads, trying to avoid the light that streamed in through the windows. Its skin smoked where sunlight touched it, giving off an odor of charred Glitch-flesh.
A woman screamed when the Glitch landed on the back of her seat and grabbed her head with its claws. Electricity sizzled over her skin.
“Open your shade!” I yelled. “It can’t take sunlight!”
Shades flew up along both sides of the plane. The Glitch jumped toward the center row, clawing at people’s ankles as it scrabbled under a seat.
“Over here!” a man called. “What the hell is that thing?”
“The Glitch that was making the plane fall—don’t let it spit at you! And watch out for its claws.” I ran to him, kicking debris out of my way. I had to make sure it didn’t re-infest the controls.
I dived to the floor by the row of seats where the Glitch was hiding—and flinched away as a wad of spit sailed out. But not fast enough. The spit landed in my hair and stung my scalp. Damn. I hate getting Glitch spit in my hair. The Glitch snapped and swiped its claws at me, but its movements were restricted by the limited space under the seats. Passengers had barricaded it in with bags and coats and laptops and anything else within reach. Its only way out was the narrow opening I was watching. The demon convulsed, hawking up another wad of spit.
This Glitch wasn’t trying to escape; it was guarding its hiding place. I squirted more hairspray at it and considered. If the Glitch stayed trapped, it couldn’t jump back into the stabilization system. The hairspray seemed to work better than that damn expensive Glitch Gone; I’d never seen a Glitch stay in physical form for so long. The extreme stickiness that did its thing for Ms. Iron Hair’s helmet head kept the Glitch from shifting into its energy form.
Another wad of spit flew out. It missed, and I nailed the Glitch with more squirts. The trouble was, I didn’t know how long the hairspray’s effect would last. And even under the seats, there were plenty of places where the Glitch could go if it switched to its energy form—laptops, cell phones, all the electronic gadgets people carry with them on long flights. Even the aircraft’s entertainment system. It was too risky. We were still over the ocean. We had to fly far enough to land somewhere, and there was no way to stay in the air safely with a Glitch on the plane.
I’d have given anything for a simple bronze knife. A fast stick and it’d be over. I squirted the Glitch, then shook the bottle. The hairspray was getting low. As I rose to my knees, another wad of smelly spit shot past me, splatting against the arm of a seat a couple of rows back.
“Does anyone have anything that’s bronze?” I called. “A pin? Bracelet? Cuff links?”
People stared at me. I probably looked crazy—although I was getting used to that, especially with a sticky purple lump of Glitch spit in my hair.
“Bronze kills demons. It’ll get rid of this Glitch so it can’t crash the plane.”
A buzz went up and down the rows of seats as people asked their neighbors for bronze. I dropped to the floor again to keep an eye on the Glitch and gave it another spritz.
“Here,” said the man who’d pointed out the Glitch. “Will any of this work?”
I kneeled up and he poured a pile of costume jewelry into my hands. Bronze obviously wasn’t on this season’s list of must-have fashion accessories. People had donated gold, gold-plated stuff, even silver, but not a single piece was bronze.
I dropped back down and recoiled as a claw struck, missing my face by a quarter inch. I pressed the pump on the spray bottle. Nothing came out. I unscrewed the top and flung what little was left onto the Glitch. I was out of time. Evening sunlight slanted through the windows, but it wouldn’t for much longer.
I pulled off my leather jacket and wrapped it around my hand to get some insulation against the Glitch’s electrical field. I put my face within striking range. A claw swiped at me. Moving fast, I grabbed the demon’s hand and pulled.
The Glitch howled with rage and lobbed wads of spit at me. The man in the seat next to me reached down to help and got a nasty shock before I could warn him away. Electricity sizzled through the jacket and buzzed up my arm. The leather smoked. The Glitch grabbed at the seat legs with its free hand, but I was stronger. I kept pulling. The Glitch let go and launched itself at me, attacking with claws and teeth. Slashes of electrifying pain tore through my face and arms, but I hung on. The man saw what I was doing and called for a leather jacket. Someone tossed him one. He wrapped it around both hands and hugged the Glitch. A third person joined us.
“Help me get it in the sunlight,” I said, and we made our way down the aisle with the struggling, screeching Glitch to a patch of sun a little longer than the demon’s body. We lowered it to the floor, smack in the middle of the light patch, and held it there. It fought and squirmed and howled and spit, but we kept it pinned.
Sparks erupted from the Glitch, and its body wavered under my hands. No, not now! It couldn’t change to energy. I started to ask for hairspray, but the sparks came faster—bigger, brighter—little flickers of flame burning whatever they landed on. I turned my face away.
The Glitch exploded. Energy pulsed, and shreds of slimy purple gunk flew everywhere. A sizzle of blue energy flared up where the demon had lain, then burned itself out.
The plane cruised smoothly through the sky.
I rose to my feet, shaking, as passengers clapped, cheered, and stomped their feet. I thanked the guy who had helped me. His face was dotted with exploded Glitch, like a bad case of purple acne. “Better wash that off.” I explained about Glitch venom.
I turned to thank my other helper and saw who it was: Kane. Somehow, he’d avoided getting Glitch goop all over him. I was glad. I’d hate to see clumps of purple gumming up that beautiful silver mane. I touched my own Glitch-gunked hair.
Kane caught my wrist and gently pulled my hand away, then kissed it. He raised his gray eyes to meet mine.