Timeless pp 5, p.5
Timeless pp-5, page 5
part #5 of Parasol Protectorate Series
“I suppose they must be alerted to the fact that we have arrived.” Alexia looked about for some kind of signaling device. She noticed that off to one side of the bench sat a fat little gun. After subjecting it to close examination, she shot it up into the air.
It made a tremendous clap. Major Channing started violently, much to Alexia’s satisfaction, and the gun emitted a ball of bright white fire that floated high up and then faded out.
Alexia looked at the weapon with approval. “Ingenious. Must be one of Madame Lefoux’s. I didn’t know she dabbled in ballistics.”
Channing rolled his ice-blue eyes. “That woman is an inveterate dabbler.”
They had no further time to consider the gun, for the rowboat jolted once, causing Alexia to fall back hard against one of the parasol supports. It was Major Channing’s turn to look amused at her predicament. They rolled forward, first at quite a sedate pace and then at increasing speed, the tracks running up the long, low hill to where Woolsey Castle crouched, a confused and confusing hodgepodge of architecture.
Countess Nadasdy had done what she could to improve the Maccons’ former place of residence, but it did little good. The resulting building merely looked grumpy over the indignity of change. She’d had it painted, and planted, and primped, and festooned, and draped to within an inch of its very long life. But it was asking too much of the poor thing. The result was something akin to dressing a bulldog up like an opera dancer. Underneath the tulle, it was still a bowlegged bulldog.
Major Channing helped Alexia out of the tram, and they made their way up the wide steps to the front door. Alexia felt a little odd, pulling the bell rope at what once had been her home. She could only imagine what Major Channing felt, having lived there for goodness knew how many decades.
His face was stoic. Or she thought it was stoic; it was difficult to tell under all that handsome haughtiness.
“She certainly has made”—he paused—“adjustments.”
Lady Maccon nodded. “The door is painted with silver swirls. Silver!”
Major Channing had no opportunity to answer, for said door was opened by a beautiful young maid with glossy ebony hair, decked out in a frilled black dress with crisp white shirt and black pin-tucked apron front. Perfect in every way, as was to be expected in the countess’s household.
“Lady Maccon and Major Channing, to see Countess Nadasdy.”
“Oh, yes, you are expected, my lady. I’ll inform my mistress you are here. If you wouldn’t mind waiting one moment in the hall?”
Lady Maccon and Major Channing did not mind, for they were busy absorbing the transformation the countess had enacted upon their former abode. The carpets were now all thick and plush and blood red in color. The walls had been repapered in pale cream and gold, with a collection of fine art rescued from the wreckage of the hive’s previous abode on prominent display. These were luxurious changes that neither appealed to a werewolf’s taste nor suited his lifestyle. One simply did not live with Titian paintings and Persian rugs when one grew claws on a regular basis.
Major Channing, who hadn’t seen the place since the pack left it, arched one blond eyebrow. “Would hardly have thought it the same house.”
Lady Maccon made no answer. A vampire was oiling his way down the staircase toward them.
“Dr. Caedes, how do you do?”
“Lady Maccon.” Dr. Caedes was a thin, reedy man, with a hairline paused in the act of withdrawal and an interest in engineering, not medicinal matters, despite his title.
“You know Major Channing, of course?”
“We may have met.” The doctor inclined his head. He did not smile nor show fang.
Ah, thought Alexia, we are to be treated with respect. How droll. “My husband would have attended your summons, but he was called away on urgent business.”
“Oh?”
“A family matter.”
“I do hope it is nothing serious?”
Alexia tilted her head, playing the game of reveal with aplomb. She had been some time now a member of the Shadow Council and was a quick study in the fine art of conversing upon matters of great importance yet saying nothing significant. “More bedraggled, I suspect. Shall we proceed?”
Dr. Caedes backed down, having to follow the niceties of conversation that he and his kind had insinuated into society. “Of course, my lady. If you’d care to follow me? The countess is awaiting you in the Blue Room.”
The Blue Room, as it turned out, was the room formerly occupied by the Woolsey Pack’s extensive library. Alexia tried to hide her distress at the destruction of her favorite retreat. The vampires had stripped it of its mahogany shelving and leather seats and had papered it in cream and sky-blue stripes. The furniture was all cream in color with a decidedly Oriental influence and, unless Alexia was very much mistaken, Thomas Chippendale originals.
Countess Nadasdy sat in an arranged manner, draped to one side over the corner of a window seat. She wore an extremely fashionable and extraordinarily elaborate moss-green receiving dress trimmed with pale blue, the skirt tied back so narrowly that Lady Maccon wondered at the queen’s ability to walk about, and the sleeves were so tight Alexia very much doubted the vampire could lift her arms at all. Biffy had tried to foist such absurdities upon Alexia, but only once, at which juncture she insisted that mobility was not to be sacrificed for taste, especially not with a child like Prudence dashing about. Biffy hunted down daringly cut fluid styles influenced by the Far East for his mistress to wear instead and said no more about it.
The countess had the ample figure of a milkmaid who had partaken too freely of the creamy results of her labors, which did not suit the style of the dress at all. Alexia would never have said a word, but she shuddered to think of Lord Akeldama’s opinion on such a figure in such attire. She planned, of course, to describe it in detail to her dear friend as soon as possible.
“Ah, Lady Maccon, do come in.”
“Countess Nadasdy, how do you do? You are adjusting to rural life, I see.”
“For a girl with as unsullied a nature as I, the countryside is unobjectionable.”
Lady Maccon paused, verbally stymied by the countess using the words unsullied and girl to describe herself.
The vampire queen glanced away from Lady Maccon’s ill-disguised discomposure. “Thank you, Dr. Caedes. You may leave us.”
“But, My Queen!”
“This is a matter for Lady Maccon and I, alone.”
Alexia said quickly, “Countess, may I present Major Channing?”
“You may. Major Channing and I are already acquainted. I’m sure he won’t mind allowing us a few moments of privacy?”
Major Channing looked like he would mind, but realizing that Dr. Caedes was about to leave his queen with a preternatural decided it was all in good faith.
“I shall be just outside the door, my lady, should you need anything.”
Alexia nodded. “Thank you, Channing. I’m convinced all will be well.”
So Alexia found herself alone in a blue room with a vampire queen.
After Felicity and Madame Lefoux departed, the shop turned into a frenzy of fashionable ladies in pursuit of hats, but Biffy’s staff of assorted shopgirls had it well under control. He did a quick lap to ensure no lady was purchasing anything that did not suit her coloring, complexion, demeanor, station, or creed. He then left his accessories to the tender mercies of Britain’s shopping public and retired down to the contrivance chamber to catch up on necessary paperwork. He was engaged at first, it must be admitted, in beautifying said paperwork by trimming the corners and adding necessary swirls and flowers to the text.
It had all happened rather organically. Because he was there most nights, and the contrivance chamber was the new dungeon for Lord Maccon’s wolves, Biffy had assumed responsibility for a good deal of pack organization. Professor Lyall didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he rather approved, so far as Biffy could tell. He wondered if the professor, after decades of sole stewardship, was relieved to have someone else take on part of the burden.
Since Madame Lefoux had removed all her machines, instruments, and gadgets, the contrivance chamber was a good deal more cavernous. Biffy thought it could use some nice rose-patterned wallpaper and a brocade cushion or two. But, given that its new purpose was as a full-moon prison, there was no point in wasting wallpaper on werewolves.
The dandy circled the huge room slowly, imagining himself swanking about a massive ballroom in one of Paris’s fancy hotels—except he was checking the security of the pulley system, not waltzing with worldly Parisian ladies in obscenely large headdresses. Everything seemed to be secure. Gustave Trouvé had done an excellent job. The massive cages, iron coated in a silver wash, were strong enough to hold even Lord Maccon, yet they rose to the ceiling via a cranking mechanism that even the weakest claviger could operate. Biffy looked up contemplatively at the bottoms of the cages and wondered if he might not turn them into some kind of chandelier. Or at least ornament them with some ribbons and a tassel or two.
He settled behind his small desk in one corner of the room. There was pack business to attend to: a puzzle over one of the new recruits and a petition from a loner for one of his clavigers to be put up for metamorphosis. Several hours later, he stood, stretched, and packed away his work. He considered the fact that all around town, plays were ending, clubs were filling with smoke and chatter, and the gentlemen follies were at large. Perhaps he might change and catch the last of the evening’s entertainment before sunrise. He had been required, by dint of association, to give over some of his dandified ways after becoming a werewolf, but not all of them. He fingered delicately the unruly curls of his hair. Some young men about town had recently assumed a certain level of scruff and simulated messiness. Biffy liked to think it was his influence.
The pack town house was dark. Everyone was taking advantage of the lures that London had to offer with little risk of accidental change for the youngsters or chronic boredom for the elders. He was making his way upstairs when he caught a smell, an unusual one not ordinarily associated with his abode. Something spicy and exotic and—he paused, trying to think—sandy. He turned, tracking with small short sniffs, following the alien scent toward the back of the house and the servants’ domain.
Biffy heard the murmur of voices, his fine wolf hearing alerting him even through the shut kitchen door. Men’s voices, one of them deep and authoritative, the other higher and more lilting. The first sounded familiar, but it was difficult to tell who it was, as they both were speaking in a foreign tongue Biffy couldn’t quite place.
The conversation ended and the outer door to the kitchen opened and shut, letting in the sound of the back alley and a brief whiff of rubbish. Lightning fast, Biffy nipped into the shadows under the staircase at the far side of the hall, watching for the other party of the conversation.
Floote emerged from the room. The butler did not notice Biffy, merely gliding about his duties.
Biffy stood a long time in the dark, thinking. Then he realized what language it had been. Interesting that Lady Maccon’s pet butler spoke fluent Arabic.
“Well.” Alexia stood before the queen of the Woolsey Hive and narrowed her eyes at the woman. “Here I am, Countess, at your disposal. How can I help?”
“Now, Lady Maccon, is that any way to address your betters?” Countess Nadasdy didn’t move from her stiff pose.
Alexia privately suspected, due to the tightness of the dress, that she couldn’t.
“You have taken me away from an evening with my family, Countess.”
“Yes, on the subject of which, we understood Lord Akeldama would have primary care for the abomination and yet…” The vampire let her words trail off.
Alexia understood perfectly. “Yes, and he does. Prudence lives with him. And please refer to my daughter by her name.”
“But you live next door and visit quite frequently, I understand.”
“It is necessary.”
“A mother’s love or a child’s affliction?” The countess widened her cornflower-blue eyes significantly.
“Someone has to cancel her out.”
The countess grinned suddenly. “Difficult is she, the soul-stealer?”
“Only when she isn’t herself.”
“Fascinating way of putting it.”
“You simply must learn to relax your standards, Countess, or Prudence could run ragged all over London, even getting so far as Barking.” Alexia, nettled that she had been offered neither seat nor tea, allowed some of her annoyance to creep into her voice. “Is this the nature of your summons or did you have something particular you wished to discuss with me?”
The vampire queen reached out to a small side table. Alexia was certain she heard the dress creak. The queen gestured Alexia to come closer, using a small scroll of parchment she had resting there.
“Someone wishes to meet the abomination.”
“What was that? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch it. Wishes to meet who, did you say?” Alexia looked pointedly out a nearby window.
Countess Nadasdy showed fang. “Matakara wishes to meet your child.”
“Mata-who? Well, many people wish to meet Prudence. Why should this particular person signify to any—”
The countess interrupted her with a sharp gesture. “No. You misunderstand. Matakara, queen of the Alexandria Hive.”
“Who?”
“Oh, how can you be intimate with so many immortals, yet be so ignorant of our world?” The countess’s beautiful round face became pinched in annoyance. “Queen Matakara is the oldest living vampire, possibly the oldest living creature. Some claim over three thousand years. Of course, no one knows the actual number with any certainty.”
Alexia tried to fathom such a vast age. “Oh.”
“She has shown a particular interest in your progeny. Generally speaking, Queen Matakara hasn’t shown an interest in anything at all for five hundred years. It is a great honor. When one is summoned to visit her, one does not delay.”
“Let me get this perfectly clear. She requires me to travel, to Egypt, with my daughter, on her whim?” Lady Maccon was, perhaps, less impressed than she ought to be by the interest of such an august body.
“Yes, but she would prefer if the reason for your journey were not publicly known.”
“She wants me to travel to Egypt with my daughter under subterfuge? You have heard of my daughter’s antics, have you not?”
“Yes.”
Alexia huffed out a breath in exasperation. “Not asking very much, is she?”
“Here.” The countess passed her the missive.
The sum of the request, or more properly the order, written in a slightly stilted manner that suggested the writer’s first language was not English, was indeed as had been discussed.
Alexia looked up from it, annoyed. “Why?”
“Because she desires it, of course.” Clearly Queen Matakara had the same kind of superior social power over the countess as the Queen of England did the Duchess of Devonshire.
“No, I mean to ask, why should I inconvenience myself with a trip?”
“Ah, yes, preternaturals, so very practical. I understand Egypt is lovely this time of year, and I believe there is something more that you have overlooked.”
Alexia read the letter again and then flipped it over. There was a postscript on the reverse side. “I believe your husband is missing a werewolf. And you are missing a father. I can help you with both.”
Alexia folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into her reticule, next to Ethel. “I’ll prepare to leave at once.”
“My dear Lady Maccon, I surmised that might be the case.” The countess looked sublimely pleased with herself.
Alexia sneered. Nothing was more annoying than a self-satisfied vampire, which, given that seemed to be their natural state, was saying something about vampires.
A great hullabaloo out in the corridor heralded some kind of emergency. There was a good deal of yelling and then a banging at the door to the Blue Room.
“I left orders not to be disturbed!” yelled the queen, moved to irritated vocalization, if not actually moved to, well, move.
Said orders, however, were clearly to be disregarded, for the door burst open and in stumbled Dr. Caedes, Major Channing, and Madame Lefoux. They were carrying between them an exquisite young woman with dark hair, whose eyes were closed and body ominously floppy. Her perfection was marred by a great gash at the back of her head that bled copiously.
“Oh, really! I just had this room made over,” said Countess Nadasdy.
CHAPTER FOUR
Several Unexpected Occurrences and Tea
“It’s Asphodel, My Queen. Riding accident.”
The vampire queen made a beckoning motion with two fingers. “Bring her to me.”
The three carried the drone over to her mistress. The girl’s breathing was shallow, and she did not move.
“Dead drones are so inconvenient. Not to mention the hassle in finding an adequately fit, able, and attractive replacement.”
“I think you should try for the bite, My Queen.”
Countess Nadasdy looked at her vampire companion skeptically. “You do, do you, Doctor? I suppose it has been a while since I took the gamble.”
The door crashed open once more and Mabel Dair appeared in the aperture, resplendent in a bronze riding gown with red trim. The actress swept into the room. “How is she?”
Miss Dair sashayed across the thick carpet and cast herself forward to kneel on the floor next to Countess Nadasdy and the injured drone. “Oh, poor Asphodel!”
Alexia had to give the actress credit for a moving performance.
Madame Lefoux stepped forward and bent to press Miss Dair’s shoulders soothingly. “Come away, chérie. There’s nothing we can do for her now.”
Mabel allowed herself to be gentled into a standing position and away from the hive queen. “Oh, you will try, please, won’t you, mistress? Asphodel is such a sweet girl.”
The queen wrinkled her nose and looked back down. “I suppose she is quite pretty. Very well, bring me my sippy goblet.”
It made a tremendous clap. Major Channing started violently, much to Alexia’s satisfaction, and the gun emitted a ball of bright white fire that floated high up and then faded out.
Alexia looked at the weapon with approval. “Ingenious. Must be one of Madame Lefoux’s. I didn’t know she dabbled in ballistics.”
Channing rolled his ice-blue eyes. “That woman is an inveterate dabbler.”
They had no further time to consider the gun, for the rowboat jolted once, causing Alexia to fall back hard against one of the parasol supports. It was Major Channing’s turn to look amused at her predicament. They rolled forward, first at quite a sedate pace and then at increasing speed, the tracks running up the long, low hill to where Woolsey Castle crouched, a confused and confusing hodgepodge of architecture.
Countess Nadasdy had done what she could to improve the Maccons’ former place of residence, but it did little good. The resulting building merely looked grumpy over the indignity of change. She’d had it painted, and planted, and primped, and festooned, and draped to within an inch of its very long life. But it was asking too much of the poor thing. The result was something akin to dressing a bulldog up like an opera dancer. Underneath the tulle, it was still a bowlegged bulldog.
Major Channing helped Alexia out of the tram, and they made their way up the wide steps to the front door. Alexia felt a little odd, pulling the bell rope at what once had been her home. She could only imagine what Major Channing felt, having lived there for goodness knew how many decades.
His face was stoic. Or she thought it was stoic; it was difficult to tell under all that handsome haughtiness.
“She certainly has made”—he paused—“adjustments.”
Lady Maccon nodded. “The door is painted with silver swirls. Silver!”
Major Channing had no opportunity to answer, for said door was opened by a beautiful young maid with glossy ebony hair, decked out in a frilled black dress with crisp white shirt and black pin-tucked apron front. Perfect in every way, as was to be expected in the countess’s household.
“Lady Maccon and Major Channing, to see Countess Nadasdy.”
“Oh, yes, you are expected, my lady. I’ll inform my mistress you are here. If you wouldn’t mind waiting one moment in the hall?”
Lady Maccon and Major Channing did not mind, for they were busy absorbing the transformation the countess had enacted upon their former abode. The carpets were now all thick and plush and blood red in color. The walls had been repapered in pale cream and gold, with a collection of fine art rescued from the wreckage of the hive’s previous abode on prominent display. These were luxurious changes that neither appealed to a werewolf’s taste nor suited his lifestyle. One simply did not live with Titian paintings and Persian rugs when one grew claws on a regular basis.
Major Channing, who hadn’t seen the place since the pack left it, arched one blond eyebrow. “Would hardly have thought it the same house.”
Lady Maccon made no answer. A vampire was oiling his way down the staircase toward them.
“Dr. Caedes, how do you do?”
“Lady Maccon.” Dr. Caedes was a thin, reedy man, with a hairline paused in the act of withdrawal and an interest in engineering, not medicinal matters, despite his title.
“You know Major Channing, of course?”
“We may have met.” The doctor inclined his head. He did not smile nor show fang.
Ah, thought Alexia, we are to be treated with respect. How droll. “My husband would have attended your summons, but he was called away on urgent business.”
“Oh?”
“A family matter.”
“I do hope it is nothing serious?”
Alexia tilted her head, playing the game of reveal with aplomb. She had been some time now a member of the Shadow Council and was a quick study in the fine art of conversing upon matters of great importance yet saying nothing significant. “More bedraggled, I suspect. Shall we proceed?”
Dr. Caedes backed down, having to follow the niceties of conversation that he and his kind had insinuated into society. “Of course, my lady. If you’d care to follow me? The countess is awaiting you in the Blue Room.”
The Blue Room, as it turned out, was the room formerly occupied by the Woolsey Pack’s extensive library. Alexia tried to hide her distress at the destruction of her favorite retreat. The vampires had stripped it of its mahogany shelving and leather seats and had papered it in cream and sky-blue stripes. The furniture was all cream in color with a decidedly Oriental influence and, unless Alexia was very much mistaken, Thomas Chippendale originals.
Countess Nadasdy sat in an arranged manner, draped to one side over the corner of a window seat. She wore an extremely fashionable and extraordinarily elaborate moss-green receiving dress trimmed with pale blue, the skirt tied back so narrowly that Lady Maccon wondered at the queen’s ability to walk about, and the sleeves were so tight Alexia very much doubted the vampire could lift her arms at all. Biffy had tried to foist such absurdities upon Alexia, but only once, at which juncture she insisted that mobility was not to be sacrificed for taste, especially not with a child like Prudence dashing about. Biffy hunted down daringly cut fluid styles influenced by the Far East for his mistress to wear instead and said no more about it.
The countess had the ample figure of a milkmaid who had partaken too freely of the creamy results of her labors, which did not suit the style of the dress at all. Alexia would never have said a word, but she shuddered to think of Lord Akeldama’s opinion on such a figure in such attire. She planned, of course, to describe it in detail to her dear friend as soon as possible.
“Ah, Lady Maccon, do come in.”
“Countess Nadasdy, how do you do? You are adjusting to rural life, I see.”
“For a girl with as unsullied a nature as I, the countryside is unobjectionable.”
Lady Maccon paused, verbally stymied by the countess using the words unsullied and girl to describe herself.
The vampire queen glanced away from Lady Maccon’s ill-disguised discomposure. “Thank you, Dr. Caedes. You may leave us.”
“But, My Queen!”
“This is a matter for Lady Maccon and I, alone.”
Alexia said quickly, “Countess, may I present Major Channing?”
“You may. Major Channing and I are already acquainted. I’m sure he won’t mind allowing us a few moments of privacy?”
Major Channing looked like he would mind, but realizing that Dr. Caedes was about to leave his queen with a preternatural decided it was all in good faith.
“I shall be just outside the door, my lady, should you need anything.”
Alexia nodded. “Thank you, Channing. I’m convinced all will be well.”
So Alexia found herself alone in a blue room with a vampire queen.
After Felicity and Madame Lefoux departed, the shop turned into a frenzy of fashionable ladies in pursuit of hats, but Biffy’s staff of assorted shopgirls had it well under control. He did a quick lap to ensure no lady was purchasing anything that did not suit her coloring, complexion, demeanor, station, or creed. He then left his accessories to the tender mercies of Britain’s shopping public and retired down to the contrivance chamber to catch up on necessary paperwork. He was engaged at first, it must be admitted, in beautifying said paperwork by trimming the corners and adding necessary swirls and flowers to the text.
It had all happened rather organically. Because he was there most nights, and the contrivance chamber was the new dungeon for Lord Maccon’s wolves, Biffy had assumed responsibility for a good deal of pack organization. Professor Lyall didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he rather approved, so far as Biffy could tell. He wondered if the professor, after decades of sole stewardship, was relieved to have someone else take on part of the burden.
Since Madame Lefoux had removed all her machines, instruments, and gadgets, the contrivance chamber was a good deal more cavernous. Biffy thought it could use some nice rose-patterned wallpaper and a brocade cushion or two. But, given that its new purpose was as a full-moon prison, there was no point in wasting wallpaper on werewolves.
The dandy circled the huge room slowly, imagining himself swanking about a massive ballroom in one of Paris’s fancy hotels—except he was checking the security of the pulley system, not waltzing with worldly Parisian ladies in obscenely large headdresses. Everything seemed to be secure. Gustave Trouvé had done an excellent job. The massive cages, iron coated in a silver wash, were strong enough to hold even Lord Maccon, yet they rose to the ceiling via a cranking mechanism that even the weakest claviger could operate. Biffy looked up contemplatively at the bottoms of the cages and wondered if he might not turn them into some kind of chandelier. Or at least ornament them with some ribbons and a tassel or two.
He settled behind his small desk in one corner of the room. There was pack business to attend to: a puzzle over one of the new recruits and a petition from a loner for one of his clavigers to be put up for metamorphosis. Several hours later, he stood, stretched, and packed away his work. He considered the fact that all around town, plays were ending, clubs were filling with smoke and chatter, and the gentlemen follies were at large. Perhaps he might change and catch the last of the evening’s entertainment before sunrise. He had been required, by dint of association, to give over some of his dandified ways after becoming a werewolf, but not all of them. He fingered delicately the unruly curls of his hair. Some young men about town had recently assumed a certain level of scruff and simulated messiness. Biffy liked to think it was his influence.
The pack town house was dark. Everyone was taking advantage of the lures that London had to offer with little risk of accidental change for the youngsters or chronic boredom for the elders. He was making his way upstairs when he caught a smell, an unusual one not ordinarily associated with his abode. Something spicy and exotic and—he paused, trying to think—sandy. He turned, tracking with small short sniffs, following the alien scent toward the back of the house and the servants’ domain.
Biffy heard the murmur of voices, his fine wolf hearing alerting him even through the shut kitchen door. Men’s voices, one of them deep and authoritative, the other higher and more lilting. The first sounded familiar, but it was difficult to tell who it was, as they both were speaking in a foreign tongue Biffy couldn’t quite place.
The conversation ended and the outer door to the kitchen opened and shut, letting in the sound of the back alley and a brief whiff of rubbish. Lightning fast, Biffy nipped into the shadows under the staircase at the far side of the hall, watching for the other party of the conversation.
Floote emerged from the room. The butler did not notice Biffy, merely gliding about his duties.
Biffy stood a long time in the dark, thinking. Then he realized what language it had been. Interesting that Lady Maccon’s pet butler spoke fluent Arabic.
“Well.” Alexia stood before the queen of the Woolsey Hive and narrowed her eyes at the woman. “Here I am, Countess, at your disposal. How can I help?”
“Now, Lady Maccon, is that any way to address your betters?” Countess Nadasdy didn’t move from her stiff pose.
Alexia privately suspected, due to the tightness of the dress, that she couldn’t.
“You have taken me away from an evening with my family, Countess.”
“Yes, on the subject of which, we understood Lord Akeldama would have primary care for the abomination and yet…” The vampire let her words trail off.
Alexia understood perfectly. “Yes, and he does. Prudence lives with him. And please refer to my daughter by her name.”
“But you live next door and visit quite frequently, I understand.”
“It is necessary.”
“A mother’s love or a child’s affliction?” The countess widened her cornflower-blue eyes significantly.
“Someone has to cancel her out.”
The countess grinned suddenly. “Difficult is she, the soul-stealer?”
“Only when she isn’t herself.”
“Fascinating way of putting it.”
“You simply must learn to relax your standards, Countess, or Prudence could run ragged all over London, even getting so far as Barking.” Alexia, nettled that she had been offered neither seat nor tea, allowed some of her annoyance to creep into her voice. “Is this the nature of your summons or did you have something particular you wished to discuss with me?”
The vampire queen reached out to a small side table. Alexia was certain she heard the dress creak. The queen gestured Alexia to come closer, using a small scroll of parchment she had resting there.
“Someone wishes to meet the abomination.”
“What was that? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch it. Wishes to meet who, did you say?” Alexia looked pointedly out a nearby window.
Countess Nadasdy showed fang. “Matakara wishes to meet your child.”
“Mata-who? Well, many people wish to meet Prudence. Why should this particular person signify to any—”
The countess interrupted her with a sharp gesture. “No. You misunderstand. Matakara, queen of the Alexandria Hive.”
“Who?”
“Oh, how can you be intimate with so many immortals, yet be so ignorant of our world?” The countess’s beautiful round face became pinched in annoyance. “Queen Matakara is the oldest living vampire, possibly the oldest living creature. Some claim over three thousand years. Of course, no one knows the actual number with any certainty.”
Alexia tried to fathom such a vast age. “Oh.”
“She has shown a particular interest in your progeny. Generally speaking, Queen Matakara hasn’t shown an interest in anything at all for five hundred years. It is a great honor. When one is summoned to visit her, one does not delay.”
“Let me get this perfectly clear. She requires me to travel, to Egypt, with my daughter, on her whim?” Lady Maccon was, perhaps, less impressed than she ought to be by the interest of such an august body.
“Yes, but she would prefer if the reason for your journey were not publicly known.”
“She wants me to travel to Egypt with my daughter under subterfuge? You have heard of my daughter’s antics, have you not?”
“Yes.”
Alexia huffed out a breath in exasperation. “Not asking very much, is she?”
“Here.” The countess passed her the missive.
The sum of the request, or more properly the order, written in a slightly stilted manner that suggested the writer’s first language was not English, was indeed as had been discussed.
Alexia looked up from it, annoyed. “Why?”
“Because she desires it, of course.” Clearly Queen Matakara had the same kind of superior social power over the countess as the Queen of England did the Duchess of Devonshire.
“No, I mean to ask, why should I inconvenience myself with a trip?”
“Ah, yes, preternaturals, so very practical. I understand Egypt is lovely this time of year, and I believe there is something more that you have overlooked.”
Alexia read the letter again and then flipped it over. There was a postscript on the reverse side. “I believe your husband is missing a werewolf. And you are missing a father. I can help you with both.”
Alexia folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into her reticule, next to Ethel. “I’ll prepare to leave at once.”
“My dear Lady Maccon, I surmised that might be the case.” The countess looked sublimely pleased with herself.
Alexia sneered. Nothing was more annoying than a self-satisfied vampire, which, given that seemed to be their natural state, was saying something about vampires.
A great hullabaloo out in the corridor heralded some kind of emergency. There was a good deal of yelling and then a banging at the door to the Blue Room.
“I left orders not to be disturbed!” yelled the queen, moved to irritated vocalization, if not actually moved to, well, move.
Said orders, however, were clearly to be disregarded, for the door burst open and in stumbled Dr. Caedes, Major Channing, and Madame Lefoux. They were carrying between them an exquisite young woman with dark hair, whose eyes were closed and body ominously floppy. Her perfection was marred by a great gash at the back of her head that bled copiously.
“Oh, really! I just had this room made over,” said Countess Nadasdy.
CHAPTER FOUR
Several Unexpected Occurrences and Tea
“It’s Asphodel, My Queen. Riding accident.”
The vampire queen made a beckoning motion with two fingers. “Bring her to me.”
The three carried the drone over to her mistress. The girl’s breathing was shallow, and she did not move.
“Dead drones are so inconvenient. Not to mention the hassle in finding an adequately fit, able, and attractive replacement.”
“I think you should try for the bite, My Queen.”
Countess Nadasdy looked at her vampire companion skeptically. “You do, do you, Doctor? I suppose it has been a while since I took the gamble.”
The door crashed open once more and Mabel Dair appeared in the aperture, resplendent in a bronze riding gown with red trim. The actress swept into the room. “How is she?”
Miss Dair sashayed across the thick carpet and cast herself forward to kneel on the floor next to Countess Nadasdy and the injured drone. “Oh, poor Asphodel!”
Alexia had to give the actress credit for a moving performance.
Madame Lefoux stepped forward and bent to press Miss Dair’s shoulders soothingly. “Come away, chérie. There’s nothing we can do for her now.”
Mabel allowed herself to be gentled into a standing position and away from the hive queen. “Oh, you will try, please, won’t you, mistress? Asphodel is such a sweet girl.”
The queen wrinkled her nose and looked back down. “I suppose she is quite pretty. Very well, bring me my sippy goblet.”
