Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Amanda passed the time reading one of the airline catalogs placed in a pouch in front of his seat. As she flipped through every page, she wondered who would want to buy the tacky and expensive things that filled it. The lone exception was the Harry Potter broomsticks. They looked cool. Not that she could ever afford them.
Amanda put the catalog away and decided to take a nap before they handed out dinner. Seated behind her were a chorus of loud, squawking kids that caused her to grind his teeth. Just seven more hours of this, she quietly uttered as she slowly but surely slipped away to dreamland.
She slowly opened his eyes feeling refreshed. The plane had come to a stop. That was quick, Amanda thought as she stretched her arms overhead in a reflexive action. She noticed then that the overhead compartment was gone. She looked around and noticed that the plane as a whole was gone. It seemed that she had been transported to a cafe from the 1930s that had been bombed considerably, visible in the walls and furniture which looked weather and in a state of disrepair.
“Where am I?” Amanda wondered silently walking past the faded and flimsy pine tables, looking for any sign of life amongst the gray walls and empty wine bottles. She looked up and saw through a sizable hole in the roof a pair of fighter jets in the sky locked in a dogfight.
“We’re in your head, Amanda Duncan,” a voice said in a clear Irish Brogue. “A part that apparently likes to dwell on the Second World War.”
“Who are you,” she spoke to the disembodied voice. “How do you know my name?”
“You remember your father’s funeral, Ms. Duncan?”
Amanda had stopped in front of one of the broken stools. "Oh my God, you're..."
She turned around to find the beautiful red headed Amazon sitting at one of the rickety wooden chairs. “My name is Brigid,” she was dressed in the same armored outfit from the funeral hall. She was holding a glass of gin. “I’m Editor-in-Chief of the Guardian.”
“Wait a second...the Editor-in-Chief of the Guardian's a guy," Amanda fired back confusedly. "There's no way you could..."
She stopped in the middle of the sentence as she flashed back to the funeral hall. "You were the one behind the job offer, weren’t you?”
Brigid nodded. “Along with the plane tickets and the flat.”
“Why did you choose me?” she said, shaking his head. “I mean, what’s so special about me?”
“I don't have time to explain those intracacies. My friend’s spell will wear off soon,” she took a swig of the gin glass and placed it atop one of the tables, standing up. “When you arrive at Heathrow, go to an Indian restaurant on the first floor named Aditrim. I’ll be wearing a green blouse and a silk skirt. I will give you more details then.”
“Wait, Brigid.” Amanda followed her as she turned to leave.
Brigid didn’t answer until she reached the café door, the sounds of bombs and fighter planes in the background. She stepped into the gloom and walked away up the street from sight.
Amanda advanced slowly to the door. The setting beyond looked similar to the images he had seen of Chelsea the day of the explosion. The only difference was that the sky from the doorway looked blue instead of the black he had seen in the roof. There were people screaming and running away from something that he couldn’t see. A few moments later, a man with emerald eyes dressed in an ivory toga stepped into view. He stopped and peered directly at Amanda, walking towards her menacingly.
“Ma'am?...”
Amanda awoke back on the plane a split second later, staring at the artfully made-up face of the stewardess. The young woman looked to be twenty or thirty years old by her guessing. She was smiling driving the food cart with a sense of bubbliness that seemed to Amanda out of place for the repetitive act of handing out pretzel bags and pre-made TV dinners.
“What would you like for dinner, ma'am?” She asked again leaning forward slightly.
Amanda pulled himself upright and rubbed the vestiges of drowsiness from her eyes. “What are you serving?”
She looked over the cart from top to bottom, quickly examining its contents. “Let’s see, we have steak. We have fish and chips with a side of ranch. If you’re a vegetarian, we also have a nice potato soup with a side salad.”
“Hmm, that sounds appetizing,” she said, casually looking at the dishes on the cart himself after placing her tray table down. “But I’m gonna go with the fish and chips.”
“One moment, please,” the stewardess bent down and picked up one of the plates containing the fish and chips. She then handed the wrapped plate over to Amanda. “That will be $5 please.”
She handed her a $5 bill, holding the plate in his free hand. The young woman nodded politely, placing the plate calmly on Ms. Duncan's tray before moving on to the next passenger. With a quick ferocity, Amanda ripped open the plastic covering and began to eat. It tasted awful, but it would do the trick for the next six hours.
She pulled out a copy of World War Z from her carry-on bag and started reading as she ate. It was a soothing respite from thinking about beautiful armored red heads with swords and whatever her dream was about. As she read about the richly written post-zombie apocalypse exploits, Amanda’s attention was drawn to the sound of skittering above her head.
When she looked up, she saw a gangly hairless creature perched like a spider next to the overhead compartments. It was wearing a Manchester City jersey that drooped in the back like an oversized shirt, stopping a couple of inches from Amanda’s head. The creature also wore a pair of shorts that hung loosely around his light green tree branch legs.
“You like the Duende, pretty boy?” The ugly creature asked in a thick Spanish accent, craning its head to look directly at Ms. Duncan.
The accent took Amanda back for a moment. She chuckled timidly at the creature, partially intimidated by what this Duende could possibly do to him. “Sorry, I…was just stretching my neck out.”
The Duende laughed before skittering away, whistling what sounded like either an Etta James or Lady Gaga song as he went along. Amanda shook her head and tried to dismiss the whole incident, continuing with the book and the plate of food. She could hardly read half a page before being distracted by a thought: I should be more weirded out by what has just happened. The dream, the strange Duende creature. But she wasn't. I guess it comes with years of reading comic books, she thought going into her food. She also started to wonder how no one else onboard saw the Duende.
[BING!]
“Hello folks,” an American voice bellowed from the plane’s loudspeakers. “This is your captain speaking. We are ready to make our descent into Heathrow International Airport. It is a beautiful 60 degrees outside today with mostly cloudy skies. The time will be 9:45 AM when we land. Thank you for choosing our humble airline for your travel needs, and I hope you enjoy London.”
***
The plane arrived fifteen minutes late. Walking from the concourse to the terminal, Amanda felt the great soreness of a ten-hour plane ride hit her legs. She also felt a bit woozy thanks to the jet lag as she stood in line at the customs check through. The sights and sounds of a brand new country though helped to ease the transition as the authorities finished their work and Amanda moved to Baggage Claim.
The conveyor belt spun around for a couple of minutes in a silent grind, spitting out pieces of luggage of all sizes. After finding her two bags, Amanda set out to locate where Aditrim was. She walked along the first floor that stretched far and wide in front of her, seeing nothing but rental car desks and airline check-in desks. The further she walked, the more pessimistic she became that she would be able to find where this place was. Finally, she saw the restaurant’s sign.
It was hidden within the hustle and bustle of the airport in a way that only the most well-tuned eyes could be able to see. Ms. Duncan walked up to the front entrance, luggage wheels rolling behind him with each step, and was greeted by a blond haired host dressed in a black formal shirt and pants.
“Welcome to Aditrim, miss,” the host said with a welcoming smile. “Table for one?”
“No, thanks,” Amanda said, looking inside the packed restaurant. “I’m actually supposed to be meeting someone here. Her name—”
A familiar voice interrupted him mid-sentence. “Ms. Duncan!” came a voice from the back of the restaurant. Amanda turned slightly and there was Brigid, sitting at a table smiling near the back. She was dressed as she had said she would. Her hair flowed down the back of the chair.
“Oh, you’re the revered guest Brigid was talking about,” the host chimed in with a grin. “Right this way, Ms. Duncan.”
Amanda followed the host, weaving through the other tables toward Brigid. As she walked, she could smell the aroma of tandoori chicken and different kinds of curries that were coming from the kitchen. It seemed like a completely ordinary looking Indian restaurant. A good place to meet.
“I ordered the Beef Curry for both of us,” she said casually discarding the faux pas. “I can say from past experience it is better here than anywhere else in Britain.”
“So...Brigid,” Amanda said, sitting down and situating herself on the seat. “Why did you go through all the trouble to hire me?”
“Along with your reporting acumen, Ms. Duncan, I believe you have something special that would be beneficial to the newspaper,” she replied, taking a sip of water.
“Special how?”
Brigid reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of metal pipe, placing it in the middle of the table. “Pick that up.”
“Okay,” the young woman reached out and grabbed the medium sized piece of metal with a degree of confusion. “Now what?”
“Bend it at a ninety-degree angle.”
Amanda raised her eyebrow in noticeable disbelief. “There’s no bloody way I can pull that off!” She said dismissingly.
“Then you can walk away right now and forget this conversation ever happened,” she said calmly. "The job will still be yours, along with the acoutrements provided beforehand."
Amanda mulled over the offer for a moment. Nothing to lose here, she thought. She grabbed both sides of the pipe a second later and started to bend it upwards. To her great surprise, she bent the pipe in half with ease. “How did I do that?” Amanda asked Brigid, dropping the piece of metal on her lap.
“That is simple, Ms. Duncan,” Brigid replied, leaning forward toward her. “You are a Páistí.”
“Who, or what, is a Páistí,” she said as the waiter delivered the two plates of Beef Curry to them.
“The Páistí are a designation of humans who are the biological children of the gods and blessed with the powers of the Danaan,” she explained as she took her fork and dug in to the curry. “There were dozens of them that scattered along the four corners of the world, called on at certain times to defend your world against threats beyond mortal comprehension.”
“Kind of like superheroes.” Amanda chimed in, taking the first bite of curry. Her curry was a little spicy though still tasty, she thought to herself.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” the picturesque Irishwoman answered. "It is inspired by our past exploits."
“So, what happened to them?” Ms. Duncan asked, taking a drink of water.
“Four centuries ago, the humans fell out of standing with the All Father,” Brigid replied. “He demanded that the Páistí go back to Avalon immediately. Some did follow his demands while the rest were left to die either naturally or in battle somewhere.”
“For centuries, the creation of new Páistí was banned by the All Father,” she continued, scraping up the chunks of meat on her fork and eating them. “That is, until your father came along.”
The tip of the fork scraped the top of the plate like nails on a chalkboard when Amanda heard that. “Don’t tell me my dad was one of those gods who had sex with a mortal woman.”
Brigid laughed as she chewed. “No, no. He was just a good man who, along with his wife, made a deal with Aeonghus in order to be able to conceive a son. He had no idea of the power his offspring would have...or what would've occurred to his true love.”
A large rock formed in Amanda's throat. Suddenly, years of pain in regards to her mother's death flooded back into her head. “This is a joke, right?” She said, chuckling slightly as she wiped her eyes. “Some elaborate prank to welcome me into the newspaper. I mean...there’s no way there are such things as gods or Páistí.”
“You want proof then.” Brigid was clearly not as amused as Amanda. “Alright, I shall happily oblige.”
The tall red-headed Irishwoman stood up and took a large steak knife from a nearby table. She then sat back down and very calmly grabbed Amanda by the wrist. The action jolted Ms. Duncan who wondered what was going on as she slammed her hand on the table. Brigid raised the steak knife high above her head. Before Amanda could react, the well-dressed woman drove the steak knife deep into her own hand.
Amanda screamed in terror at the self-immolating act. He tried to bottle it up a short moment later when he noticed some of the people around him who looked concerned and worried by what happened. There were even some of the patrons reaching in their purses or pockets to call the police as she pulled the blade out of her hand.
She watched in shock as the wound already began to heal. “Holy crap, it’s all real!”
“You asked me my name before, Ms. Duncan,” Brigid said formally, wiping the blood off the blade. “I am Brigid Ollathair, Gaelic goddess of the Brigantes, daughter of the All-Father Dagda.”
“I always thought when I met a god...they'd be older,” Amanda remarked. “You don’t look any older than I am.”
Brigid laughed at his assumption. “I am old in the numerical sense. I just don’t age beyond what you see in front of you.”
Amanda nodded and took another bite of curry. “Is the same thing going to happen to me?"
“It is entirely possible,” Brigid replied, placing the blade down next to the plate. “The full maturation of one’s powers varies by age. Sometimes, it is when they are seven years of age. In others, the powers come to be in their early twenties.”
“I guess that means my power maturation’s already passed by,” she said dejectedly, taking another forkful of the curry. "If it's even going to happen."
“One never knows,” Brigid smiled finishing the last of her curry plate in one forkful in front of Amanda. She slid off her chair, bent down and picked up her purse from underneath the table. “You need a ride to your flat, Ms. Duncan?”
“I was thinking of taking a cab,” Amanda replied, quickly gobbling a few more bites. “Unless you have something better.”
The two of them walked out to the car park where her light blue-green Mercedes SLK with tinted windows was sitting. She was impressed by the scale and beauty of the automobile as they sat inside and drove out.
“Why do you need a car anyhow?” She asked as they hit the main motorway. “Couldn’t you just fly me there?”
“First of all, it is far more than a car,” Brigid replied. “Secondly, although I could fly you there, I use this conveyance for the same reason I chose a newspaper as a front organization- to provide me and my associates a degree of secrecy and the ability to blend in with humankind.”
“I’m not certain why you’d need the secrecy really.” Amanda said. “It’s not like people would come out and lynch you if the world found out who we were.”
“That is not what I am afraid of.”
***
It was a little after eleven o’clock in the morning when the car stopped in front of his new flat- 52 Marchmont Street, LONDON, WC1N 1AP. Amanda stepped out of the car and gazed admiringly at her new home while Brigid stepped from the driver’s side.
“You wanna come inside and see the place,” she asked, pulling out her individual pieces of luggage. There was faintly hearing a clicking sound at his periphery. “I wouldn’t mind the company, this being my first day in a new country.”
She was interrupted by a clattering sound. Amanda turned around to find the beautiful car he had traveled in was now a phone no larger than a Blackberry.
“I told you it was much more than an automobile.” Brigid said slipping the phone gently into her purse.
Amanda remained frozen in place for an extra beat before chuckling briefly. “So…what was I saying again?”
“You were about to ask me out on a date,” Brigid calmly replied, looping the purse over her shoulder. “Which I was going to refuse since I do not date co-workers.”
Amanda nodded and grabbed the handle of one of his suitcases. As Brigid started to leave, she flagged her new boss down. “There’s one last thing I wanted to ask.”
“What is it?” she said standing at the curb.
“About the time that my superpowers do come out in me, if at all...” Amanda almost could not believe how effortlessly that sentence flowed out of her. “How is it going to happen?”
“No idea,” she replied, stepping atop an empty spot of road. “See you at work tomorrow, Amanda. You will meet the rest of my friends.” She watched her fly out of sight.
Amanda tried to process this sudden stream of information her new boss had given her as he carried his two suitcases inside the new flat. I wonder if I can fly too one day, she thought stepping inside and closing the door behind her.