Rook

written by a moron. She ignored the heavy sigh that came over the intercom.
    “It’s a Miss Bronwyn?” There was an unspoken implication that if Myfanwy had been willing to trust her secretary with the secret of her amnesia, she should have been willing to tell her about anyone who’d be calling to ask for “Ms. Myfanwy Thomas.”
    “Oh, yeah, I’ll take it.” Myfanwy saved her document, got up from her desk, and went to retrieve the mobile phone, stepping gingerly between the teetering stacks of papers that covered most of the floor. Since getting back from Scotland, she’d been sifting through the personnel files of the traitorous Retainers, looking for some insight. So far, there had been no blinding revelations, but there had been some memorable avalanches of documents. Ingrid flatly refused to bring any more pieces of paper into the office, and a member of the cleaning staff had almost gone into hysterics when asked to dust.
    “Hullo, Bronwyn?”
    “Heya! How’re you doing? I got your e-mail about your job crisis.”
    “Well, things are a little more under control, but people are still pretty stressed.”
    “So it’s a big deal, then. I mean, it’s been five days since you went to Scotland.”
    “Five days?” repeated Myfanwy. “Seriously?”
    “Uh, yeah. It’s Friday. That’s why I called. I was wondering if you wanted to come out tonight. A few of us are going clubbing and I thought that if you weren’t busy, you might want to come.”
    “Clubbing? Clubbing what?” asked Myfanwy.
    “What?”
    “Do you mean self-defense?”
    “What are you talking about?” asked the girl whose world did not consist primarily of supernatural security.
    “What are
you
talking about?” asked the girl whose social life consisted primarily of occasionally going out to lunch and visiting sites filled with paranormal malevolence.
    “Going clubbing—dancing.”
    “Oh… hmm,” said Myfanwy warily.
    “You don’t seem very enthusiastic.” Bronwyn sounded a bit hurt.
    “Oh, no,” said Myfanwy hastily. “It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever actually been clubbing.”
    “Really? Oh, right,” said Bronwyn, remembering the backstory Myfanwy had given her. “Well, you should come, then. I mean, it’s a good time, and Mum always said that Thomas girls are born to dance. Unless…” She trailed off uncomfortably.
    “What?” asked Myfanwy.
    “Well, I just remembered that you said you were… kind of nervous about going out.”
    What?
thought Myfanwy confusedly.
Oh, right. My purported agoraphobia.
    “No, I really should try and go out,” said Myfanwy definitely. “Let me just check on a few things.”
Like finding a way to actually get out without an escort.
“I’ll get back to you.” The sisters agreed thatMyfanwy would make the call later in the day and that if she
did
come out, Bronwyn would not have any unrealistic expectations about Myfanwy’s ability to dance.
    I ngrid, do I have any meetings scheduled for tonight?” Myfanwy asked over the intercom.
    “You know, Rook Thomas, all appointments are supposed to be made through me” came the tart reply.
    “I
am
making an appointment through you,” said Myfanwy.
    “Well, you are supposed to call Bishop Petoskey of the Croatoan this evening.”
    “I’ll e-mail Shantay and let her know that I’ll call tomorrow,” decided Myfanwy.
She would kill me if she knew I blew off an actual social opportunity in order to talk business on a Friday night.
“And please let Security Chief Clovis know that I’ll be staying in the residence tonight, so he won’t need to prepare any bodyguards for me. Oh, and see if you can get me a flashlight and a gun.”
    “Security Chief Clovis is already on his way up to discuss internal security with you.”
    Ingrid shifted into hyperefficient mode. By the time Clovis arrived, the desk and chairs were stacked high with a bizarre array of firearms. Myfanwy was peering intently at her computer, a tower of files on her lap.
    “Good afternoon, Rook Thomas,” Clovis said. Standing among the teetering stacks of paper, he was a figure of exquisite stillness.
    “Good afternoon. Could you please shut the door so that Ingrid doesn’t burst an eardrum trying to hear everything?” There came an irritated snort from the antechamber. “How are you, Clovis?”
    “Busy, Myfanwy. We have just finished designing the new security protocol. We’ll be examining every member of the Checquy Group for Grafter