"I've always liked airports," I said brightly. The October wind grabbed my pink scarf and jerked the tassled ends of it against my face. I batted at the tassles. "All the bustle, people coming and going, endless possibilities." Death didn't reply, just stood on the tarmac of the runway, grinding his jaw and looking into the woods beyond. The smell of burning rubber and hair skudded in dark clouds that disappeared into the steely sky close above us. "Well, obviously not for these people,"... read more
