by P. C. Cast
Had the White Bull—or any man—listened, he would have found her answer unchanging and simple; Neferet had had the same desire since she was a child. I want limitless power. I want to control the world around me. There is nothing as safe as absolute power. Staring into the bull’s bottomless gaze, stoked by the immensity of his power, Neferet began to form a new plan.
She lifted a hand from her tendrils and let one delicate finger trace a slow line from her smooth neck to the deep V of her bodice, holding his gaze boldly. When she reached the fabric of her torn and stained jumpsuit, Neferet glanced down suggestively, and then gasped in horror and crossed her arms over her chest to cover herself. She shook her head and looked away. “No, this is not how your Consort should present herself to you, Mighty Bull! Forgive me. I am not myself.” She half turned from him. “I am not worthy of you—not now. Not yet. Not until I have regained my place and hold dominion over my people.”
Suddenly the bull was there, his mighty head towering over the bar, his nose nuzzling her shoulder with his fetid, freezing touch. Neferet easily kept herself from moving away in disgust. She only allowed others to see what she wished them to see, and this bull—this creature of pure evil—was no different than the others who for her entire life had tried to mold her into their ideal of what she should be.
None of them had ever been successful—nor would the White Bull be.
“Let me return you to your rightful position and give you more—so much more.”
The bull’s voice had deepened with lust and Neferet had to force herself not to smile in victory.
Instead she turned to him and rested her soft hands against his slick, white head. “What more is there?”
“Divinity.”
“Alas, unlike you, Mighty Bull, I was not created. I was born—thus, I am mortal.”
His moist muzzle nuzzled her, leaving more stains on her torn and dirty clothing. Neferet ignored her distaste and leaned into him.
“You are correct in one aspect. Immortals are created, not born. But there are still remnants of creation magick on this earth. You need only know where to look.”
Her slender finger stroked the bull’s white horn as she hid the rush of excitement his words caused. “I do not know where to look.”
“I do. You need only be willing to do anything, and immortality—as well as an eternity as my beloved Consort—could be yours,” said the bull.
Neferet met his gaze steadily and did not hesitate. “There is nothing I would not do to gain the power of a goddess.”
“Excellent! This is most excellent.” The bull’s pleasure rumbled through the bar causing the tiny hairs on Neferet’s arms to lift. “Creation magick can only be found where Old Magick exists. The largest concentration of Old Magick is on the Isle of Skye.”
“Skye is Queen Sgiach’s domain.” Irritation pricked at Neferet. All vampyres knew of Queen Sgiach, the Great Taker of Heads, and her ferocious Highland Warriors. No one entered or left the Isle of Skye without her permission.
“Yes, it is.”
“She will not grant me entry. When I called on her to join me in my war against humans she refused! Instead the Great Taker of Heads made a public statement condemning me.” Neferet’s lip lifted in a sneer. “A statement. I expected the warrior queen to join me, but she is obviously more interested in comfort and safety than regaining the power humans stole from our people.”
“Sgiach and I are not allies, but I have observed her for more than five hundred years. I assure you, it is not comfort or safety that keeps her on her island.”
“Then what is it?”
“She is obsessed with maintaining the balance of good and evil. Old Magick, and the limitless power it controls, could tip that balance. Should Sgiach fall and be replaced by someone who is less concerned with archaic ideals of right and wrong, this world—perhaps many worlds—would be vastly different.” The White Bull dipped his massive head and nuzzled Neferet again.
“Then why don’t you kill her?” Neferet asked.
The White Bull chuckled. “Ah, my heartless one, I already enjoy you so. Old Magick is powerful enough to bar me from the island—just as it also bars the Black Bull. Our presence amidst such power would cause chaos.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Neferet stroked his muzzle.
“Only if it destroys a world.”
Neferet nodded thoughtfully. “You want me to lure her off the island so you can kill her, and then I will control Old Magick and become your immortal Consort.”
“Sgiach is not so foolish. She’s aware that I watch—that I wait. No, if the queen is to be killed it needs to happen on her island and you must do it.”
“Me? I would be happy to, but I cannot. We’ve already established that I am mortal. Only an immortal can destroy another immortal.”
“The Great Taker of Heads is not immortal. She is not vampyre or human—she is something more and less,” explained the bull.
Neferet’s eyes narrowed. What kind of game is he playing? “But why isn’t Sgiach immortal if she lives on the island where immortality can be attained?”
“Because she rejected the power. Queen Sgiach said those born mortal are always corrupted by immortality.”
Neferet scoffed softly. “Foolish idealism.”
“Indeed, but it means she can be killed. I will aid you. Together we will destroy Sgiach and take control of her warriors and the Old Magick that fills her island. Once we have control of that you will become my immortal Consort.”
“What an intriguing idea.” Neferet ceased caressing the bull. Her thoughts whirred. She had no intention of ever being anyone’s Consort. The bull had already proven extremely useful, and she was quite sure he would be invaluable in the future as an ally, but she would not allow herself to become so beholden to him that she lost her freedom. She would never again lose her freedom. Neferet was quite certain she was capable of destroying a mortal queen who hadn’t bothered to leave her castle in centuries, and he’d already given her the information she needed to attain the power she craved.
“Mount me, my heartless one. I will carry you through the night to the Isle of Skye. There, I will hide you in luxury as I coach you on how to enter the island.”
“What more is there to know than the fact that I must get Sgiach’s permission?”
“There is one other way to enter the island. Gain the permission of elemental sprites. They are pure Old Magick and can be bribed to allow you entrance.”
Neferet listened closely, appalled at what a simple thing it was to talk the bull into divulging information. Her sharp mind moved quickly, reminding her of the rules she’d learned so long ago about Old Magick and its elementals. “Sprites always insist on a sacrifice to perform a task, and the sacrifice must hold as much value to them as the task does to the person making the request. I shall have to tempt them with something extraordinary to get them to allow me to enter Skye.”
“So mortals believe. Typically, sprites are capricious and can be vicious destroyers one moment and strangely childlike the next. They are curious, though, and often inquisitive and precocious. They truly love scavenger hunts, riddles, and quests. With the exception of Sgiach, today’s mortals have forgotten more than they ever understood about sprites. But I have not forgotten. So, instead of offering a sacrifice for entry, ask the sprites to set a task for you to complete. But first you must pique their interest. Show them respect, but in a unique way. If you intrigue them enough, they will agree. The task will be difficult, but I will remain close by. I will aid you in completing whatever it is they set before you.”
Neferet knew what she must do. It was a gamble. She might anger the bull so much that he turned from her, or far worse, considered her an enemy and destroyed her. But Neferet would always prefer destruction to servitude. She drew a sharp breath and stepped back.
“My lord, I desire not
hing more than to attain immortality and become your eternal Consort.” Neferet told her half lie smoothly. “But would I be worthy of you if you had to help me, like a pathetic child, to attain my power?” She didn’t pause long enough to allow him to answer, but quickly answered herself. “No! Of course I would not be worthy of you! My lord, my Mighty White Bull, I will go to Skye. I will gain entrance and defeat Sgiach. I will become immortal. When I do all of that myself, only then shall I be worthy to call myself your Consort. You must not carry me to Skye, and you must not wait close by with aid. I have to do this alone, and if I am not successful then that will mean that I am not worthy to be your lover, no matter how much I wish to be.” She bowed her head and slid gracefully into an elegant curtsy, which she held, keeping her head submissively bowed and her eyes lowered.
The White Bull waited long enough that Neferet’s thighs ached and sweat had begun to drip from her neck to pool between her breasts. Finally, his deep voice washed over her.
“I see now what my mistake has been these uncounted eons of existence. Before you I chose Consorts who so lusted for power that they always accepted my aid. And always I found them lacking.”
Still holding her curtsy, Neferet was very sure what had happened to his discarded Consorts. The White Bull did not know mercy. Those ignorant women had met with entirely unpleasant ends. Neferet almost laughed. She would never allow her lust for anything or anyone to cloud her judgment.
“Rise, Neferet. You have surprised me, and I am rarely surprised.”
Neferet rose. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Now, is there some small thing you will allow me to do to aid you? Are your resources in order?”
“My funds are secure. My money cannot be frozen. Nor can it be accessed by anyone except me.” She tapped her fingernails against the sticky bar contemplatively. She kept the bulk of her fortune in offshore accounts that were hidden. Neferet could easily replace her clothes, her jewels, even her property. But she needed to get out of this country and disappear into the highlands of Scotland—where neither Stark nor the Resistance would think to look for her—and that meant that she needed to get to her private jet before the House of Night thought to seize it. “There is one thing you can do for me.”
“Name it.”
“Carry me to the airport.”
“Surely you want more than that? Why not let me carry you to Scotland?”
“Because, my lord, carrying me a short distance to Tulsa’s private airport is a simple thing—a thing I ask you out of convenience and not because I could not make my way there myself. From there I will strive to prove myself worthy of being your true Consort without your aid. You must allow me this freedom—this proving time—without your interference. Compared to an eternity by your side, it is a small thing to ask.”
The bull’s cold eyes skewered Neferet and she felt her blood chill with a terror so intense she had to ball her fists and gouge bloody half-moons into her palms to stop trembling.
“Very well. I shall carry you to the airport and then I will stay away. For now, I shall wait. But do not test my patience, my heartless one. I am not a patient being.”
Neferet forced herself to breathe deeply and steadily. She unclenched her hands and quickly wiped the blood on her clothes before wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering into his ear. “Oh, do not fret. I won’t be long, as I too have little patience …”
7
Other Neferet
Being carried across the sky by the White Bull was not a pleasant experience. It was not like flying at all. It was more like being caught in a cold, dark void with only the bull’s eerie coat to illuminate the nothingness. Neferet clung to the bull’s back, taking comfort from her children, who twined around her body and one another. They trailed after her like a living veil. Swathed in Darkness, Neferet ignored her discomfort and brought the formidable focus of her intelligence on her future. There, as she was being magickally carried by the creature who symbolized Darkness, Neferet began making a mental list of what she would immediately need. The trip was not a long one and soon there was solid ground beneath the bull’s cloven hooves, but even in that short time Neferet had outlined her plan and made her mental list.
She sat up and brushed back her mass of hair. The bull was standing in the tidy parking lot located beside the main building of the private airfield that ran adjacent to Tulsa International Airport. She quickly slid from his back. Her loyal tendrils followed her, flowing around her like a stream of tar.
“Thank you, my lord.” Neferet curtsied deeply and gracefully. “I eagerly look forward to the day I present myself to you—filled with power and clothed only in immortality and desire.”
The White Bull nuzzled her, leaving long strings of cold saliva dripping from her breasts. His deep voice pressed against her skin like another, more insistent caress, and she had to force herself to remain still and compliant.
“You will show yourself to those within as you are?” The bull’s gaze roamed over her lush body, focusing on her filthy, disheveled state.
Neferet smiled coldly. “There are naught within but humans. I will not leave any of them alive, though their opinion matters not at all to me. Tell me, Mighty Bull, how do I find you when I have completed my tasks and am worthy of you?”
“You need only call my name aloud—ask me to come to you—and no matter where you are I shall respond. Eternally.”
Neferet bowed her head. “Thank you, my lord.” She put her arms around his massive head and gently pressed her lips against his forehead. “Until we meet again,” she whispered and then turned to cross the parking lot and head into the hangar.
“Until we meet again, my heartless one.” His words rumbled after her.
She didn’t watch him leave, but she knew the instant he was gone. The air felt different—easier to breathe. And her children relaxed. One slithered up to wind around her waist. She petted it gently. “His heartless one? I am not his anything. I am my own person—controlled by my own will. Heartless or not, I will never belong to anyone except myself.”
With the same decisiveness, Neferet strode to the airport hangar. She’d been there many times. One of the first things she’d done when she gained power over the House of Night was to purchase several private jets and a flight crew for each. They were human, and therefore unbothered by jetting through the sky in the daylight. And, since the vampyre/human war, they also were completely under the control of the House of Night and were required to do her bidding without asking questions, even when she broke human law.
Neferet understood she was gambling—that Stark might be smarter than she’d anticipated and ordered the Sons of Erebus to be inside watching for her. She paused outside the entrance to the main hangar and gathered her children close to her.
“My darlings, if there are Sons of Erebus within,” Neferet murmured to the tendrils that clung to her, “you must be prepared. I will not call on the bull—not for something as mundane as freeing me from Warriors. It will be your job to slay them.”
Her children trembled with excitement at the possibility she would loose them on the Sons of Erebus, and Neferet filed that knowledge away. My children are eager to kill—even vampyres. Interesting …
“Prepare yourselves, children, but do not allow yourselves to be visible unless I command it. We wouldn’t want to give them warning, would we?”
She smiled fondly and stroked the tendrils as they wriggled enthusiastically. As soon as they disappeared from sight, she went to the entrance of the main hangar. The automatic doors opened with a soft whoosh and Neferet stepped into the tastefully decorated waiting room. She glanced at the wall of worldwide clocks. It was a little before three a.m., Tulsa time. She could hardly believe how much her life had changed in less than five hours.
A moderately attractive middle-aged woman in a tastefully tailored suit began to walk around the counter behind which sh
e’d been working at a computer station. “Good evening, how may I—” When she got a good look at Neferet her words ran out and she stared, slack-jawed.
But only for the briefest of moments.
Neferet watched the woman control her shock and fear. She picked up an iPad and literally shook herself. Then, with her face held carefully neutral, she continued. “Welcome, High Priestess Neferet. How may I serve you?”
“First, I will need the Bombardier Global 6000 made ready for an overseas trip. I require privacy and secrecy. No flight attendants will join me.”
“Of course, High Priestess. When do you wish to depart and where—” Her words broke off as the door to the rear of the building began to open. Neferet caught a glimpse of a blue pilot’s uniform before the woman rushed to the door and stopped it with her solidly planted foot. She moved so that her body blocked the pilot’s view of Neferet and spoke in a curt, no-nonsense voice. “Captain Sturdyvin, the High Priestess requires you to ready the Bombardier Global 6000 for an overseas trip. She demands privacy now and on the trip. No flight crew will be required and please be sure that they know to remain clear of this building until after takeoff. I will contact you with more information as the High Priestess provides it to me.”
“But where are we going, and when does she want to—”
“Captain Sturdyvin!” the woman snapped. “I have given you all of the information Neferet has provided me. Would you like me to tell her that you’re questioning her orders?”
“No! I’m not really questioning them. I just …”
“Good. Ready the jet. As I said, I will contact you with additional information when I have it.” She shoved—hard—against the door, slamming it in the captain’s face. She turned to Neferet with a polite smile stretching her lips. “High Priestess, I assumed you would want to freshen up in private.”
