Yes, I have wings. Can I fly from Boston to San Fran in a day while carrying a terrified twenty-six-year-old girl? A resounding no.

Probably alone, and by the grace of God, I could. However, my entire reason for being physically on Earth was to test my faith and…well, guardian angelness, I guess.

So airfare it was, then. We managed to scrounge enough money together from Emilia’s savings to buy two tickets in economy class.

I, of course, had never flown on a plane, and I think Emilia might’ve only been once or twice. So the shock was all the greater as I stepped into a world of constant activity, a hectic air, glass and plastic, and sub shops. Pay phones, service desks, X-rays, metal detectors, baggage claims. Did we even have baggage? I looked at us with only the clothes on our backs. I guess not.

The last few items I had mentally listed I encountered at security. I felt nearly stripped down as I first put my belt and shoes onto the conveyor.

Nope, this wasn’t gonna be pleasant.