note : i wrote this after reading the first of the demon road books, but before the other two were published, so it is set just after the events of Demon Road. I have know knowledge of the rest of the trilogy, and tried to make it as isolated a story as possible. 

The Dog and The Witch

Chapter 1

 Lachlan loved flying. he loved the roar and rush of the turbines as they took off, and always tried to get a seat behind them so he could feel the force of their blast as the plane lurched forwards. he could never suppress a slightly manic grin as he felt the g-force press him back into the seat. The way the plane juddered and shook as it rose into the air sent electric tingles through him, and only served to enhance the sense serenity that replaced it as they drifted up into the clouds. For him, it was as close a vision of heaven as he could ever hope to reach. endless plains of sun-kissed white nothingness, an abyss of solitude.

He could never understand, as all the passengers began, as some unconscious signal, to rustle with magazines or switch on laptops, that they couldn't seem to marvel at the beauty of the world they were in. Such bland, accepting ignorance and seemingly self-imposed gloominess bemused Lachlan. But then, he reflected, they had never seen the opposite end of the spectrum. the Stygian darknesses and raging furnaces within the endless black caverns of Hell would make anyone appreciate the light. Not that Lachlan disliked the darkness, indeed, he was most at home in shadow, but that did not diminish his ability to appreciate the beauty of the untouched kingdom above the clouds.

His chair squeaked a little as he leaned back luxuriously in it. the plane was busy, but Lachlan had a whole row of seats to himself in spite of that. The people who had been meant to sit there seemed to have been put off by something. Lachlan smiled to himself, happy that his usual charm and charisma hadn't deserted him.

Somewhere in the rows behind him, a child began to cry.

Lachlan felt something twist deep inside his gut. even in the darkest, most festered plains of the underworld, with all its terrible damnation and forlorn madness, even in the foulest pits depravity and torture, there was nothing more irritating that a baby crying on a flight. It was common knowledge. And yet, you never saw the baby get on the plane, they lulled you into a false sense of security that way, always creeping on at the end once you were relatively comfy. Then, after take-off, when you thought it was safe to try and have a nap, they struck. Lachlan checked his watch and felt a sudden pressure in his head. Five hours still to go.

As the noise reached a new, ear-grinding, crescendo he looked down at his hands and briefly contemplated blasting the plane out of the sky, but dismissed the notion. He'd rather not kill all the people on the plane, however ludicrously dull they were. More importantly, he was on a tight schedule, and a fall into the north Atlantic from 30,000 feet would really hurt, not to mention ruin his carefully arranged arrival plans. So he gritted his teeth, looked out of the window for solace, and tried to enjoy the sensation of flying. Whilst in the background, the other children on the plane began to chorus with their sadistic shrieking. 

Four hours, fifty-eight minutes...four hours, fifty-seven minutes....four hours, fifty-six minutes....