Back in Johannesburg International Airport, two feet worth of invisible but nonetheless roguish demon was dancing around the Araco Airlines check in desk in sheer glee. Graygor – Braygor’s despicable and equally twisty twin – was literally puffed up with pride at his latest meddlesome interference. His normally squinty orange eyes were wide open and his hacked purple lips were parted in a muted celebratory cheer as his clawed and gnarly fists punched the air with pride. His plan had been simple yet clever – and all his own doing – and now Graygor was certain that his ingenuity would be handsomely rewarded. Distracting the pretty lady at the Araco desk while he wrought his mischief on the airline’s computer system had been much easier than he had anticipated, and now Araco Airlines flight 454 from Johannesburg to Ireland registered empty seats on Friday 16th July, which Graygor knew Jack Wren would snap up for his sickeningly sweet little family.
Graygor simply could not contain his mirth at the fact that now he and his grizzly cohorts knew which flights the Wrens would be on, since he had manipulated the flight manifest to suit Captain Schnither’s schemes. But even better than that was the incomparable knowledge that was inebriating him so – those annoyingly persistent angelic do-gooders would be fooled into believing that because the Wrens would not board the doomed flight of Thursday 15th July, they would be safe and live happily ever after. WRONG! Graygor could not wait to tell Schnither that he had set his demonic brothers one step ahead of those blasted angels – and this time, there would be no second chances for Phoebe Wren. The sneaky little demon was so intoxicated by his own cleverness and pride that he could not wait to tell his commander what he had done, and therein lay his downfall. Without even a thought for the more pressing need to remain at his post, Graygor unfurled his spiny leathery wings and zipped out through the airport building’s roof on a direct course to the Mooar Mountain, dwelling place of Abaddon the Defiler. He could not wait to tell Schnither what he had done – perhaps his Captain would report his enterprising actions directly to Abaddon, and then who could tell how he might be rewarded?
Unfortunately for the premature little demon, in his haste to seek recognition and reward he did not loiter long enough to realise that Neam had witnessed the whole mischievous plot unfolding – he had watched as Graygor whispered into a tall, dark haired stranger’s ear, planting suggestions that he should talk nicely to the pretty Araco Airlines attendant, and maybe he’d be lucky enough to get her number. He had stayed hidden and observed how the Araco lady had smiled coyly and twisted her feathery bangs, obviously flattered by the handsome man’s attention. And he had seen Graygor messing with the computer system while her back was turned, and knew that he had freed up seats on flight 454 on Friday 16th July.
When Graygor fled the scene, Neam had remained behind and was next to the Araco Airlines lady when Jack Wren’s call came through, and he had watched as she amended the Wren’s booking from Thursday 15th July to Friday 16th July. Neam knew precisely what Graygor would report back to the enemy and now, armed with this potentially life-saving information; he knew that there was not a second to waste. He must get back to Cosain and the others and bring them up to speed.