A year before impact
Almost everything in the interior of the plane was a blandly textured grey, but for the dark red of the carpet, the greyest dark red she'd ever seen. Probably it was meant to be timeless and sophisticated instead of aggressively boring. Angharad reminded herself not to judge the designer's taste.
The fact that the Turners had their own private jet was cool and all but conducting business in the air for no good reason seemed kind of wasteful. What was the point? It totally wasn't any more secure, data-wise, and you could show off your wealth just as well on the ground. Angharad wasn't impressed.
Well, not super impressed, anyway. The quality of the seats was kind of nice.
"Nice set up you have here, Brian," her father said. "You waste this much money on everyone you want to impress?"
Mr Turner laughed. "Who said I want to impress you? Maybe I'm trying to intimidate you."
"The free Shiraz said that. Excessively expensive champagne intimidates. A decent red from the Barossa valley says you want me to like you and your company. It says you did your research on my taste, and you're trying to seduce me with this business proposition. Nice wine, flattering lights – you're trying to woo me, Brian."
Angharad tried not to roll her eyes. Adults arguing over who was the most powerful in the room always annoyed her.
"And who's the little girl, Leonard?"
Little? She was 15! She was nearly as tall as he was.
Her father rested a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, this is my niece, Ruby Robinson. I know, I know, the poor kid being saddled with a name like that. Don't blame me. I didn't come up with it."
Angharad smiled extra wide and said, "Nice to meet you."
Brian Turner probably did think it was nice to meet him in his flying ego machine.
He smiled his annoying smarmy smile and said, "My son Niall is 10. You should go play with him in the kitchens and leave the adults to their business."
"Go have fun, Ruby," her dad said.
"Sure. I bet it'll be a super great time."
*
She wandered about the plane, trying to see what she could see. Occasionally smiling in a 'whoops, I'm lost' kind of way at all the scowling cabin crew.
When she finally found the kitchen it was yet more grey, this time in the form of a lot of stainless steel. Marked up with oily fingerprints all over the place, either the signs of a child having the run of the place, or the signs of a cleaner who didn't want to commit. She wouldn't blame the hypothetical cleaner. Angharad wanted to sabotage the whole place's look, too.
There was no little kid running around, though.
It was a puzzle, right? She liked puzzles. Framing it that way might be the only way to stop her brain melting down from boredom.
She looked up high. She looked down low. She didn't really know how to look for a lost child. Not that he was lost so much as not being found by her. She assumed everyone on board knew where he was and just didn't care.
There was basically zero percent chance Brian Turner would do any business with her father, but no way to really let him down until they got back to the ground.
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"Where are you, sneaky little kid?" she asked.
There was definitely a sound after she said that other than her sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. She walked in the vague direction of where she thought the sound may have come from and found him behind another row of cupboards, leaning against yet another refrigerator. The whole plane was like a maze, a super annoying unnecessary maze designed by a sadist who enjoyed super large kitchens. Or so she guessed.
"Stay back," the kid said. Small kid, floppy brown hair. The kind of boy who'd probably turn out to be conventionally good-looking if he didn't develop his father's creepy grin.
"I'm not that close. And, like, not going to do anything to you. Just wanted to know where you were."
"Don't pretend. Don't play that game. I know what you want."
"Yeah, I don't really want anything."
The kid sweated against the appliances, bug eyed like he was looking at something much scarier than her.
"Did my father send you?" he asked.
"Uh, in a sense..."
"I won't let you take me like your people took my sister. There's nothing wrong with me. Everything I see is normal."
"Okay, I think you need lessons in normal if that's how you think I'm coming off."
She leaned over, bending at the knees, in the hope that it made her look less intimidating. And also maybe to peer at him a little to see what was wrong. Was he sick? Should she feel his forehead?
She reached an arm out and he slapped it away.
"Ow! That kind of hurt, you little brat."
"Adults are all the same. You all think you can trick me."
"I'm only 15. I'm not actually an adult yet. But I do think you might be sick and maybe need a little help."
The kid looked away.
She stepped closer. "Anyway, tricking people is my special skill. I'm actually a wizard. I offer people illusions all the time."
"I'm ten, not two," he said, voice full of disdain. "I don't believe in wizards. Magic isn't real."
"That's just what we want you to think. Makes it easier to get away with stuff."
"Fine, you're a wizard. Why should I care? That's not cool. What are you going to give me to make letting you any closer worth it?" He looked back at up her, eyes defiant even in spite of his obvious pain. He definitely had to have a headache. She could see the vein pulsing on his forehead and tried not to be too obvious about wincing at it.
"If you let me closer I'll give you the one thing no wizard truly wants to let out," she said. "The source of my power: my true name."