Forgotten

by P. C. Cast

  The woman immediately impressed Neferet, and humans almost never impressed her. She spoke as if it was not out of the ordinary for Neferet to have appeared shoeless, wearing torn and stained clothes, unannounced and unaccompanied. She hadn’t hesitated to block the pilot from entering the room and discovering Neferet’s unkempt state. She’d commanded him as if telling men what to do came naturally to her—a skill too few human females understood the importance of or attained. Neferet studied her carefully.

  “You look familiar. What is your name?”

  “Lynette Witherspoon, High Priestess. I have served as your flight concierge often in the past.”

  “Ah, I do remember. You always wear such lovely suits. It’s a shame you’re more a size eight than a size four. But, no matter. I have clothes aplenty stored here and on the jet.” And Neferet did. Not because she’d thought she would ever have to flee Tulsa, but because she hated to be inconvenienced. “And you are correct. I do prefer to freshen and depart in private.”

  “Very good, High Priestess. How else may I be of service to you?”

  “Follow me to my locker room. I have a list of things I need you to make available to me when I land.” Neferet spoke as she headed toward the rear of the building, where the private shower and fully stocked wardrobe room were located. She walked quickly, not glancing back, though she could hear Lynette’s heels tapping against the floor almost as fast as her fingers flitted across the iPad. “I will be flying to whatever private airport is most convenient to Inverness, but tell the pilots we’re going to London. They are to file a ghost flight plan with a cover story that one of the European High Council members has come from a secret visit to the Tulsa House of Night and is returning to San Clemente Island via a London shopping spree. I want no one to know where I have gone. No one—the pilots won’t even know that we’re heading to Scotland instead of England until we’re airborne. Upon landing, I will decide where in Europe they should fly the jet to store it and standby. I may need them again, though no one is to know that it is High Priestess Neferet for whom they are on standby.”

  “A ghost flight plan. Very good, High Priestess.” Lynette tapped against the iPad as Neferet continued.

  “I will need a car and a driver to take me to Skye, but I will not enter the island. I wish to have time alone—to meditate and study—no one, not vampyre nor human, is to know I am there. Use the High Council member cover story.”

  “Shall I book you a room in a B&B, High Priestess?”

  Neferet stopped so that she could turn to meet Lynette’s gaze. “Only if you can book the entire B&B.”

  “For how long, High Priestess?”

  Neferet shrugged. “A month. If I need more time, I’ll arrange that with the owner. But my presence must be kept completely secret. How will you be sure of that, Lynette?”

  Lynette didn’t hesitate. “I will find an owner who cares more about money than gossip and pay him enough to buy his confidence.”

  “Very good.”

  “High Priestess, is there a budget I should work within?”

  “None. Lynette, if needs be, buy the property. But do remember that I will require a small staff—sworn to secrecy—at least one housekeeper, a cook, and a general maid to serve and do whatever else maids do that I do not.”

  “I understand. With no budgetary restrictions I should have no problem staffing your temporary home.”

  “Try not to hire people who are too terribly unattractive.”

  “Of course not, High Priestess.”

  “I shall also require new clothes—different than I normally wear. Something rustic that will make me appear to fit in if I’m seen, though I cannot be too unfashionable.” Neferet shuddered delicately. “No jeans. Ever.”

  Lynette nodded. “Jeans are inappropriate for someone of your social standing. Would you consider wearing local plaid?”

  “Yes, Lynette. That is an excellent idea. In skirts or dresses, no slacks. And be sure you purchase several travel cloaks—each with cowls that can be pulled up to hide my face.”

  “Very good, High Priestess. Do you have a preference as to which clan plaid you wear—or would you like a mixture of several different fabrics from which to choose?”

  Neferet considered. Her full lips lifted in an almost smile as she thought back to what she knew about Sgiach and her Warriors. “Yes, I do have a preference. Have them all made in Wallace plaid—the ancient version that is muted oranges and browns with the black.” Neferet opened the door marked ladies and entered her private locker room.

  “Yes, High Priestess.” Her heels tapped steadily on the marble floor as she hurried after Neferet.

  Neferet shed her ruined clothes as she walked. “I will require meals to be procured for me. Fresh, young, attractive meals. They too must be sworn to secrecy in case I happen to be recognized.” She turned on the rain showerhead and faced Lynette, who was already taking a thick robe and two bath-sheet towels from a cabinet and laying them across the heated towel rack beside the walk-in shower.

  “Of course, High Priestess. Do you prefer your meals to be male or female?” Lynette didn’t look up from her iPad, but tapped quickly, her well-manicured fingers flying across the face of the device.

  Neferet didn’t answer her but studied her silently for several minutes. She appreciated that Lynette did not get nervous. She did glance up at the High Priestess, but when Neferet made no response she then went back to tapping away on her iPad. When Neferet finally spoke, it was to ask her own questions. “Lynette, have you ever been to Great Britain?”

  “Yes, High Priestess. London, often on shopping trips for my old business, and Edinburgh frequently as well.”

  “Are you competent to drive there?”

  “Well, yes, I have driven in the UK, though roundabouts give me a headache.”

  “Lynette, I have changed my mind.”

  “Yes, High Priestess?”

  “You will accompany me on my journey. I have need of someone with your skill set.”

  Lynette did look up at Neferet then—her shock only reflected by two pink circles that suddenly appeared on her cheeks. “Accompany you?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  Lynette blinked quickly several times. “No! Not at all. I do not keep toiletries or clothes here, High Priestess. Will I have time to go home to—”

  Neferet waved away Lynette’s words. “You may purchase whatever you need in Scotland. Now, as you so appropriately put it, I am going to freshen. In thirty minutes, the jet must be ready to take off. Be sure you are on board. Remind the pilot that he is posting a ghost flight plan. I want no one to know where I am, and that includes the flight crew we leave behind.”

  “Do you require a meal for the flight?”

  “I do, indeed, but stored blood and several bottles of wine from my private collection will suffice. And be sure the caviar service is packed as well. Again, I am traveling in secrecy. Any feeder from this area would recognize me, and then I would have to dispose of its body in the air, which would be quite inconvenient. Oh, and I assume you have access to the security cameras in and around this hangar?”

  “I do, High Priestess. It is part of my responsibilities to be sure they are serviced regularly and in proper working order.”

  “Then you know how to erase and disconnect them?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose I do.”

  “Good. Do it. Now. Secrecy, Lynette. Do I make myself quite clear?”

  “Yes, High Priestess.”

  “Excellent. That is all for now. Close the door on your way out.”

  Other Lynette

  Lynette paced the length of the Bombardier as she spoke firmly into her cell. “Yes, ma’am. You did understand me correctly. My employer wishes to book Balmacara Mains, the bed and breakfast—every room—arriving in the next twenty-four hours, for one month. Yes, that is
the amount she is willing to pay for your entire establishment.”

  Lynette paused as the gruff Scotswoman who had identified herself as Mrs. Muir, owner of Balmacara Mains, sputtered and huffed.

  “It cannae be done!”

  “Very well, Mrs. Muir. Might you recommend an establishment in the area that would be more amenable to receiving an obscene amount of money for a month’s privacy?”

  “Ach, well, dinnae be so hasty. Did ya say you’d also be needin’ the household staff?”

  “Only the bare minimum—cook, housekeeper, and a maid to run errands, shop, etcetera. But, Mrs. Muir, my employer insists on privacy. If the staff cannot be trusted to be absolutely silent, I will handle what needs to be done until others can be hired.”

  Mrs. Muir made a rude noise through her nose. “Are ye aff yer heid? How will ye be doin’ that?”

  Lynette rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Mrs. Muir, do we have a deal or shall I stop wasting our time?”

  “Aye, we have a deal. I’ll be your employer’s cook. One of my housekeepers is simple. She can clean, but isnea much for blethering. My Noreen will be the maid. She minds her own business and has three wee bairns to feed, thanks to the no-account man she merrit. I’ll tell the current boarders a tall tale and relocate ’em in the village. Bedbugs, mind.”

  Lynette shuddered and almost said that it was asinine to start a rumor about bedbugs, but she held her tongue. Let Muir make her own mistakes. With what Neferet was paying her she could have the entire place fumigated and refurnished, and still have plenty of cash to spare.

  “Excellent. You said you do have internet access?”

  “Aye, this isnae the Dark Ages. You can email me through the information address on our website.”

  “Then from the air I will send you a list of items my employer must have upon arrival, and a second list for later in the week. Keep your receipts. We will reimburse everything you purchase with an additional payment for time and travel expenses. Expect to see the two of us in the next twenty-four hours. And, Mrs. Muir, the one piece of personal information I will give about my employer is that she is a vampyre. She is powerful and rich and dangerous. Keep your word. Show her loyalty and discretion and you will profit from her visit—greatly. If you do not you will suffer as greatly as you would have profited. Do you understand?”

  “Och, aye. Well enuf, that’s for sure. Tell yur mistress dinnea fash hersel. All will be ready.”

  Lynette stifled a sigh. The longer she talked to the old woman the thicker and more confusing her Scots accent became.

  “Um, yes. Very good. My employer is counting on you. You have my number and shortly you will have my email address. If you have a question—any question—ask. Thank you and goodbye.”

  She tapped the end button as she slid into one of the bench seats in the cabin. Her fingers flew across the iPad while she began the lists she’d send to Muir.

  The pilot entered the cabin from the cockpit. “There you are. Okay, let’s talk flight plans since Nefere—”

  “No! We’re not using her name!” Lynette raised her hand and cut off Captain Sturdyvin. “She wants you to file a ghost flight plan that says we’re going to London. The High Priestess will tell you where she’s actually going when we’re airborne.”

  “These fucking ghost flight plans are not my favorite,” grumbled the captain.

  “If your job was easy, anyone could do it and you wouldn’t be making seven figures a year in the middle of a vampyre-human war where humans are expendable.” Sturdyvin glared at her, but Lynette continued to meet his surly gaze steadily. Her lips even lifted in the hint of a smile as she asked pleasantly, “Would you like to keep your job?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then do as she orders without complaint. Though I do not know her well, I can already tell the High Priestess doesn’t tolerate complainers.”

  “Who died and left you boss?”

  After a lifetime living in the Midwest, Lynette knew this kind of man entirely too well—white, affluent, well-educated, and until not long ago entitled to basically whatever he wanted for a lot less effort or talent than any woman or person of color would have to expend. Captain Sturdyvin did not understand that the world had shifted, permanently and drastically, for humans. Men and women like him would not adapt, but Lynette had. Lynette would always adapt—and more. She didn’t simply survive. Lynette flourished. Her tenacity, brains, and decent good looks had taken her from a squalid single-wide trailer in Camino Villa, Broken Arrow, to the million-dollar historical mansion she’d renovated in the exclusive Midtown Tulsa neighborhood of Swan Lake. And when the war started she was the only human to keep her home in Swan Lake. She’d anticipated the signs. Lynette had known the vampyres were taking charge and before the official beginning of the war she’d closed her personal-assistant business—let her entire staff of fifty-five employees go—liquidated everything except her home and her S Class Mercedes Benz, and successfully presented herself at the House of Night to apply for reemployment. Her organizational skills and her intimate knowledge of the Tulsa area had landed the airport concierge job when other humans were being designated as “feeders” and “refrigerators.”

  Now this pilot—this idiot of a man—was too arrogant to remember that it had been Lynette who had found him and offered him this posh job.

  “Currently, no one has died. The High Priestess is boss. I am her mouthpiece. Were I you, I would treat me as you treat her, but if you’d rather test me go ahead. It’d probably be wise to first file your ghost flight plan and be ready to take off in—” Lynette paused and checked the time on her iPad, “Seven minutes.” She stared at the captain until he scoffed and retreated to the cockpit to join his more silent copilot there.

  Lynette gave Sturdyvin no more thought. He’d hang himself with Neferet, of that she was sure, and Lynette would happily provide him the rope.

  Five minutes later the copilot, a shy man named First Officer Schmidt, stepped from the cockpit, calling to her. “Lynette? Ma’am? Ed is calling from the main building. He says that Nef—uh, I mean the High Priestess is requesting you join her.”

  “In the main hangar?”

  “Yes, the waiting room is what she said.”

  Lynette’s stomach tightened with worry as she stood and hurried to the front of the plane.

  “But I told the captain that all crew members were to stay out of the main hangar until after the High Priestess departed.”

  “It’s just Ed! The watermelon-headed kid who details the cars. He’s no rocket scientist. What is the big fucking deal?” grumbled Captain Sturdyvin from the cockpit.

  Lynette didn’t answer him. She was hoping it wouldn’t be a big fucking deal, but her intuition told her differently—and Lynette always paid attention to her intuition.

  She hurried down the stairs of the jet and jogged to the automatic door that opened from the flight line to the main hangar. Lynette paused for a moment to collect herself. She straightened her clothes, patted her chignon into place, drew a deep breath, and breezed into the hangar.

  Neferet was standing in the middle of the waiting room. Her mass of auburn hair was newly washed and dried, and formed a tawny mane around her face. She was wearing black silk slacks and an exquisite emerald cashmere sweater—and she was staring at Ed, who was sitting behind the counter grinning with star-struck brilliance at the High Priestess.

  “All is ready, High Priestess.” Lynette spoke quickly as she entered the room. “Ed, you may return to the other hangar now.”

  “Will do, Lynette.” He stood and made an awkward bow to Neferet. “Didn’t mean no disrespect, but when Captain Sturdyvin said it was Neferet who was here I couldn’t help myself.” He turned from Lynette to Neferet, his face alight with delight. “My ma and dad don’t get it, but I’ve been a fan of yours since I was a kid. I wanted to be Marked bad. Never happened, though.�
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  “Ed, you may return to the—” Lynette began to repeat firmly, but the clueless teenager just grinned and cut her off.

  “Hey, Lynette! I was just talkin’ to the High Priestess about what people are tweeting from the Bedlam game. Somethin’ real crazy happened out there tonight and I was wonderin’ if she—”

  “Ed, please stop speaking,” Neferet said.

  “Yeah. Will do. Not sayin’ a word more. Can’t wait to tell my friends that I saw the High Priestess again, though.”

  Lynette’s heart was beating so hard she was afraid the vampyre would notice. She spoke fast, silently hoping the idiot boy, who had just turned eighteen last weekend, would listen and get the hell out of there. “Ed, return to your hangar. Now.”

  He nodded, grinned once more at Neferet, and then turned for the side door.

  “Actually, young man, carry my bag and follow us to the jet.” Neferet spoke as she moved past him and dropped her Louis Vuitton travel bag at his feet before she exited to the flight line through the door Lynette was still standing near.

  Ed continued to grin at Lynette.

  “Just pick up the bag and follow us—and don’t say anything else,” she told the kid.

  “No problem-o! Hey, do you think she likes me?” he said.

  “No. I do not. Now shut up and do as you’re told.” Lynette ignored the kid’s crestfallen look and rushed after Neferet.

  The vampyre was already standing at the bottom of the jet’s stairway. The wind had picked up and gotten colder. It was lifting Neferet’s hair so that she looked like a silver screen–era star modeling for a cover shoot beside the jet.

  “Captain Sturdyvin!” Neferet called up at the jet as soon as Lynette and Ed had joined her.

  The captain appeared at the top of the stairs, looking annoyed and confused. “Yes, ma’am? I’m tryin’ to get us off the ground like you wanted, but that’s tough to do if I have to keep leaving the cockpit.”

  Neferet ignored him and spoke to the boy instead. “Ed, carry my bag up and give it to the captain.”