for help. I was betting on the MOC herself sending it to her former lover and friend, and Reach agreed it was likely.
Leo wanted her healed and restored, his Asheville scions healed and restored, the new master vamp identified so he could kill the bastard, and the vamp disease wiped off the face of the earth. To achieve that end, Derek Lee, my second-in-command, was going to Asheville to get blood samples from Shaddock, and I was supposed to obtain a few vials of Rosanne's blood. Just walk in and say, "Hey, Ro. Feel like making a donation?" Right. Like that was gonna happen.
Even less likely was my obtaining blood and a cogent report from the vamp-stronghold in Seattle, another conquered master of the city who was reputed to be sick. The should-be-impossible vamp-disease seemed like it was everywhere.
The door to the cockpit opened and the first mate, Tory, stuck his head out. "We're approaching Sedona's Mountaintop Airport and will be landing in fifteen minutes. Can I get you anything before we land?"
I thought about my stomach and shook my head. The smoked salmon he'd served, cold, with toast points, a salad, and a light beer, just after takeoff in New Orleans, was still sitting uneasily in my stomach. "No offense, but I'll just be happy to get my feet on the ground. Locked in this tin can with the mild turbulence you talked about back in New Orleans has not been fun."
He grinned. "This tin can is a Bombardier Learjet 85, valued at over fifteen million dollars."
I gulped and tried not to let my shock show. By the way Tory laughed, I knew I hadn't been successful. Tory was mid-thirties, not bad looking, standing about five-ten, with a lithe and wiry build, big thighs, like a cyclist, and it was clear that he found me amusing. It had to be the flight nerves.
"If you need anything just press your call button." He disappeared behind the closed door and I looked around. I was pretty sure most Learjets were not laid out like this one. The cabin was decorated in muted shades of white and taupe. It held four, fully adjustable, heated leather seats, with a galley and full bath between the seating area and the casket in back. Well, not really a casket, and I had been careful not to call it that out loud; vamps didn't care much for the fictional assumptions that they sleep in caskets filled with dirt from their homeland burial grounds. But the back portion of the cabin was a cramped bedroom with no windows and stacked bunks. It slept four - six in a pinch - strapped in to the single bunks, in perfect security, allowing vamps to fly by daylight, safe from sunlight, the doors and hatches sealed on the inside. But still. Fifteen million dollars. "Crap," I whispered.
I went back to my reading, trying to ignore the bumpy ride. Fifteen minutes later, at Tory's polite request, which I interpreted as orders, I yanked the seat belt again, cutting off the circulation in my legs, and grabbed the armrests as tightly as I could. The small jet dropped - this time on purpose, as the pilot descended for the landing at the private airport outside Sedona.
As a skinwalker - a supernatural being who can change into animal shapes, provided I have enough genetic material to work with - I've actually flown, and I far prefer wings and feathers to engines and metal. I knew what it felt like and what it took to land, in terms of wing feathering and variation, flight-feather positional changes, reaching out with front clawed feet, back-winging, tail feathers dropping, and I was relatively certain that the tin can - no matter if it was worth a rather large fortune - did not have the ability to do any of that. Or if it did, a human - a being never designed to fly - was in charge, which was doubly frightening. I'd rather be feathered and in charge.
Deep in the darks of my mind, Beast huffed. Beast didn't like it when I took the form of an animal other than hers - the Puma concolor - the mountain lion. She especially didn't like it when I changed mass into something smaller, because she didn't get to hang around for the ride, though I was pretty sure she had made strides in that regard. After a century and a half - give or take - Beast was evolving,