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soberly clothed in clerical black, and he sounded chock-full of sympathy. Furthermore, he had the
confidence of someone used to approaching strangers and being received politely. He had what I thought
was sort of an unusual haircut for a priest, though; his brown hair was longish, and tangled, and he had a
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mustache, too. But I only noticed this vaguely.
"My situation?" I asked, not really paying attention to his words. I'd just glimpsed the polished wood
coffin at the edge of the cargo hold. Bill was such a traditionalist; metal would have been more practical
for travel. The uniformed attendants were rolling it to the head of the ramp, so they must have put wheels
under it somehow. They'd promised Bill it would get to its destination without a scratch. And the armed
guards behind me were insurance that no fanatic would rush over and tear the lid off. That was one of the
extras Anubis Air had plugged in its ad. Per Bill's instructions, I'd also specified that he be first off the
plane.
So far, so good.
I cast a look at the dusky sky. The lights around the field had come on minutes ago. The black jackal's
head on the airplane's tail looked savage in the harsh light, which created deep shadows where none had
been. I checked my watch again.
"Yes. I'm very sorry."
I glanced sideways at my unwanted companion. Had he gotten on the plane in Baton Rouge? I couldn't
remember his face, but then, I'd been pretty nervous the whole flight. "Sorry," I said. "For what? Is there
some kind of problem?"
He looked elaborately astonished. "Well," he said, nodding his head toward the coffin, which was now
descending on the ramp on a roller system. "Your bereavement. Was this a loved one?" He edged a little
closer to me.
"Well, sure," I said, poised between puzzlement and aggravation. Why was he out here? Surely the
airline didn't pay a priest to meet every person traveling with a coffin? Especially one being unloaded
from Anubis Air. "Why else would I be standing here?"
I began to worry.
Slowly, carefully, I slid down my mental shields and began to examine the man beside me. I know, I
know: an invasion of his privacy. But I was responsible for not only my own safety, but Bill's.
The priest, who happened to be a strong broadcaster, was thinking about approaching nightfall as
intently as I was, and with a lot more fear. He was hoping his friends were where they were supposed to
be.
Trying not to show my increasing anxiety, I looked upward again. Deep into dusk, there was only the
faintest trace of light remaining in the Texas sky.
"Your husband, maybe?" He curved his fingers around my arm.
Was this guy creepy, or what? I glanced over at him. His eyes were fixed on the baggage handlers who
were clearly visible in the hold of the plane. They were wearing black and silver jumpsuits with the
Anubis logo on the left chest. Then his gaze flickered down to the airline employee on the ground, who
was preparing to guide the coffin onto the padded, flat-bedded baggage cart. The priest wanted . . . what
did he want? He was trying to catch the men all looking away, preoccupied. He didn't want them to see.
While he . . . what?
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"Nah, it's my boyfriend," I said, just to keep our pretence up. My grandmother had raised me to be
polite, but she hadn't raised me to be stupid. Surreptitiously, I opened my shoulder bag with one hand
and extracted the pepper spray Bill had given me for emergencies. I held the little cylinder down by my
thigh. I was edging away from the false priest and his unclear intentions, and his hand was tightening on
my arm, when the lid of the coffin swung open.
The two baggage handlers in the plane had swung down to the ground. Now they bowed deeply. The
one who'd guided the coffin onto the cart said, "Shit!" before he bowed, too (new guy, I guess). This little
piece of obsequious behavior was also an airline extra, but I considered it way over the top.
The priest said, "Help me, Jesus!" But instead of falling to his knees, he jumped to my right, seized me by
the arm holding the spray, and began to yank at me.
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