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“I hate planes.”
Glancing at his companion who sat across from him at the table, Gideon rolled his eyes. “You hate everything, Hero.”
“I do. You, most of all.” The grumpy revenant who had chosen the name Harry as of late folded his arms across his chest. The man had forgotten his name over the years. Oh, Gideon knew it. But he refused to tell the irritating creature what it was out of spite.
Harry’s illusion was still in place, as it reflexively always was, making him appear like any living man to everyone else. It was kinder to the pilot and the stewardess of the jet. They were still alive, and he had every intention of leaving them that way.
No need to be greedy.
“You do love to remind me of that.” Gideon turned his attention back to the window.
“Why let her go, only to follow her?”
“We’re not following. Technically”—he glanced at the clock on his phone again—“we’ve departed first. They’re following us.”
Harry let out a long, frustrated sigh. He really was so easy to annoy. And needling the other man was one pastime Gideon knew he would never, ever grow out of.
“If she needs me,” Gideon continued. “I can’t very well still be sitting in Boston, twiddling my thumbs, now, can I?”
“Us. If she needs us.”
“Of course.” He fought a second eyeroll.
“Why let her go?”
“Because she wished to leave.” He shrugged. “Simple as that.” Harry glared at him, which wasn’t an uncommon expression. The loathing was mutual. Gideon smiled thinly in reply. “She’s angry. We destroyed her trust in us. Now, we must work to earn it back.”
“I didn’t do shit.”
“Yes. I’m aware. Believe me.”
“We go to Italy, and then…what? Sit? Wait?”
“And visit some old friends, perhaps.” He shut his eyes and listened to the drone of the engine.
“I hate everything about this, and I think this whole thing is a stupid idea.”
“You’ve said. Now, do be quiet.” He yawned. “It’s a long flight.”
“I hate you.”
Gideon smirked. “I know.”
