Heartless: The Parasol Protectorate: Book the Fourth (43 page)

Lord Maccon stormed upstairs to find his wife abed, the babe asleep in the crook of one arm. The child had already proved herself perfectly capable of sleeping through both her mother’s and her father’s vocal exertions.
A very good survival trait,
thought Alexia, wincing as Conall clomped into the room.

“There are
vampires
in my dungeon!”

“Yes, well, where else was I supposed to stash them?”

“The countess swarmed?” The earl leaped to the only possible conclusion. “And you invited them in?
Here
?”

Alexia nodded.

“Great. Wonderful! Brilliant.”

Lady Maccon sighed, a kind of sad, quiet noise that calmed Lord Maccon where her yelling would only have aggravated matters. “I can explain.”

Conall came to kneel next to the bed, his anger dissipated by her uncharacteristic meekness. His wife must be very tired.

“Very well, explain.”

Alexia relayed the events of the night, and by the time she reached the concluding pack-versus-octomaton battle, she was yawning hugely.

“What are we going to do now?” wondered her husband. Even saying it, Alexia could tell from his defeated expression that he was already facing up to the truth—for better or worse, Woolsey Castle now belonged to the Westminster Hive. Or rather, the Woolsey Hive.

Alexia saw him blink back tears and felt her heart clench. She hadn’t meant to make such a grave error in judgment, but the deed was done. Her own eyes stung in sympathy.

He nodded. “I rather loved this old place, buttresses and all. But it hasna been my home all that long. I can break from it. The rest of the pack, they are going to be difficult. Ach, my poor pack. I’ve nae served them verra well these last few months.”

“Oh, Conall, it’s not your fault! Please don’t worry. I’ll think of something. I always do.” Alexia wanted to find a solution right then and there just to wipe that horrible expression of disappointment off her husband’s sweet face, but she could hardly keep her eyes open.

The earl bent and pressed a kiss to his wife’s lips and
then to his daughter’s little forehead. Alexia suspected he was contemplating going back downstairs to check in with Lyall, as there was still a lot to be done that afternoon.

“Come to bed,” said his wife.

“You two ladies do look verra peaceful. Perhaps just a little kip.”

“Lyall has both Floote and Rumpet helping him. They could run the empire, those three, if they felt like it.”

Lord Maccon chuckled and crawled in on Alexia’s other side, settling his big body down into the feather mattress.

Alexia sighed contentedly and nestled against him, curled about the baby.

He snuffled once at the nape of her neck. “We need to find a name for the wee one.”

“Mmm?” was his wife’s only answer.

“I’m nae certain that’s a verra good name.”

“Mmm.”

“Sorry to disturb you, my lord, but the vampires are asking for you.” Professor Lyall’s voice was quiet and apologetic.

Alexia Maccon came awake with a start to the feel of her husband shifting behind her. He was evidently trying to extract himself from the bed without disturbing her. Poor man, stealth of movement was not one of his stronger character traits. Not in human form at any rate.

“What time is it, Randolph?”

“Just after sunset, my lord. I thought it best to let you sleep the remainder of the day away.”

“Oh, yes? And have you been awake the whole time?”

Silence met that.

“Ah. Right. You tell me the lay of the fur, Randolph, and then you go catch some rest.”

Alexia heard a faint howling. The younger werewolves, still unable to control change so close to full moon, were back in their fur and imprisoned below for another night. Locked away with vampires.

“Who is seeing to them?” asked the earl as he, too, registered the sound.

“Channing, my lord.”

“Oh, blast.” All pretense at subtlety abandoned, Lord Maccon jumped out of bed.

This jiggled the baby. A thin, querulous wail started up from just under Alexia’s chin. She started violently, for she had, until that moment, entirely forgotten about the child. Her child.

She opened her eyes and looked down. Half a day’s intermittent rest had not improved the infant’s appearance. She was red and wrinkly, and her face got all scrunched up when she cried.

Conall, obviously still under the impression that Alexia was asleep, hurried around the bed and scooped the tiny creature up. The whining turned to a little snuffling howl, and there in his arms instead of a child, lay a newborn wolf cub.

Lord Maccon nearly dropped his daughter. “God’s teeth!”

Alexia sat up, not quite comprehending what she had just seen. “Conall, where’s the baby?”

Her husband, mute in shock, proffered the cub at her.

“What have you done to her?”

“Me? Nothing. I simply picked her up. She was perfectly normal and then
poof.
”

“Well, she’s unquestionably cuter in that form.” Alexia was prosaic.

“Here, you take her.” Lord Maccon put the squalling furry cub back into his wife’s arms.

At which juncture she promptly turned back into a baby. Alexia could feel the bone and flesh shifting under the swaddling clothes. It seemed to be relatively painless, for the infant’s cries did not modulate to those of real distress.

“Oh, my.” Alexia thought she sounded rather sedate, under the circumstances. “What
have
we gotten ourselves into?”

Professor Lyall’s voice was awed. “Never thought I’d live to see a real skin-stalker born in my lifetime. Amazing.”

“Is that what it means?” Alexia looked down at the child. “How extraordinary.”

Professor Lyall smiled. “I guess it must. So, what’s her name, my lady?”

Alexia frowned. “Oh, yes,
that.
”

Lord Maccon grinned, looking down at his wife. “With us for parents, we ought to call her Prudence.”

Lady Maccon, however, did not seem to share the joke. “Actually, I rather like that. How about Prudence Alessandra, after my father? And then Maccon, because when Lord Akeldama adopts her, she’s going to be an Akeldama.”

Lord Maccon looked down at his daughter. “Poor little thing. That’s a lot of names to live up to.”

“My lord,” interjected his Beta, “not that I don’t see the importance of this particular matter, but can it wait? Biffy could use your proximity. And the vampires are kicking up quite the fuss. We’ve no justification for keeping them
locked in the dungeon. What are we going to do about them?”

Lord Maccon sighed. “Sadly, it’s not them we have to find what to do with—it’s us. We can’t stay living here, not with a hive in residence as well, and they can’t leave. Not now. When you invited the countess in, Alexia, you gave them Woolsey Castle.”

“Oh, no, surely not.”

Professor Lyall sat down in a nearby chair. Alexia had never seen him look defeated before, but at that moment, Woolsey’s Beta looked as close to crushed as any man she’d ever seen.

Lord Maccon looked grim. “Nothing else for it. We’ll have to move the pack permanently into London. We will need to buy a second town house to accommodate us all and build dungeons.”

Professor Lyall protested this decision. “Where will we run? How will we hunt? My lord, there is no such thing as an urban pack!”

“This is the age of industry, invention, and refined behavior. I suppose Woolsey really will have to learn to move with the times and become civilized.” Lord Maccon was resolved.

Alexia looked at her child. “It would only be for sixteen years or so. Until Prudence is grown. Then we could look for a new territory. Sixteen years isn’t all that long for a werewolf.”

Professor Lyall did not look cheered by this shortening of his urban sentence. “The pack is not going to like this.”

“I have made my decision,” said his Alpha.

“The queen is not going to like this.”

“We’ll just have to persuade her it’s in the best interest of the Crown.”

“I think that’s a very good idea,” said Countess Nadasdy, entering the room at that moment, followed by Quesnel and Madame Lefoux.

Well,
Alexia supposed,
it’s her room now.

“How did you three get out?” griped Professor Lyall.

The countess gave him a withering look. “Did you think I was queen of the vampires for nothing? We are the original inventors of the idea of a mistress of the domain. This is now my domain. No cell in all of Woolsey will hold me for long.”

“Pish tosh. She can pick locks.” Madame Lefoux crossed her arms and looked at the vampire queen witheringly.

“It was marvelous,” added Quesnel, who seemed to be regarding Countess Nadasdy with real respect for the first time.

The countess ignored the Frenchwoman and her child and gave Alexia’s baby a wary look. “Just keep that
thing
away from me.”

Alexia rocked the newborn at her threateningly. “You mean this dangerous vampire-eating creature?”

The countess hissed and backed away, as though Alexia might throw baby Prudence at her.

Madame Lefoux wended her way to Lady Maccon’s bedside to coo over the infant.

Countess Nadasdy said, “Woolsey is ours now, unfortunately. It is hardly to be countenanced. Me living near
Barking
in the
countryside.
Why, it is positively leagues away from everywhere.”

Lord Maccon did not protest her claim. “We will need
a few days to clear out. The youngsters of the pack can’t be moved until the moon fades.”

“Take all the time you need,” said the vampire queen magnanimously. “But the soul-sucker and her abomination of a child must leave tonight.” She twirled toward the door dramatically and then paused on the threshold. “And the boy is mine.”

With that, she swept out, presumably to release the rest of her hive. “Oh,” Alexia heard her say to no one in particular as she walked down the stairs, “simply
everything
will have to be redecorated! And those buttresses!”

Madame Lefoux stayed behind. She looked worn and tired from the events of the night before, not to mention her own trials. Quesnel was practically stuck to her side, his grubby little hand entwined with hers. Madame Lefoux had grease stains on her fingertips and a smudge on her chin.

“You can’t let her take him away from me.” The Frenchwoman appealed to the assembled dignitaries with anguished green eyes. “Please.”

Now, Alexia’s subconscious had apparently given this conundrum some thought while she dozed. For a solution instantly proposed itself. “Speaking as muhjah, there is nothing we can legally do to remove him from the hive. If Angelique’s testament is as they say, and you never formally adopted Quesnel under British law, then her claim is valid and legally recognized in this country.”

Madame Lefoux nodded morosely.

Alexia pursed her lips. “You know vampires and solicitors—practically indistinguishable. I’m sorry, Genevieve, but Quesnel belongs with Countess Nadasdy now.”

Quesnel gave a little whimper at that statement. Madame
Lefoux clutched him to her and looked wild-eyed at Lord Maccon. As though, somehow, he might save her.

Alexia continued. “Now, before you go off and build a gigantic squid, I should tell you that I also intend to give
you
to Countess Nadasdy, Genevieve.”

“What!”

“It is the only viable solution.” Alexia wished she had a judge’s wig and a mallet, for she felt like she’d done rather well with this verdict. “Quesnel is what, ten? He comes into his majority at age sixteen. So, with Countess Nadasdy’s approval—and I hardly think she’ll object—you will serve as drone to the Westminster Hive for the next six years. Or, I should say, the
Woolsey Hive.
I can make a case with the queen and the countess not to press charges if such an indenture could be arranged instead. Given your distaste for the hive, this should be a rather fitting punishment. And you get to stay with Quesnel.”

“Ah,” said her husband proudly, “good plan. If we cannot bring Quesnel to Madame Lefoux, we bring Madame Lefoux to Quesnel.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

“This is a
terrible
idea!” wailed Madame Lefoux.

Alexia ignored this. “I suggest you take over Professor Lyall’s sheep-breeding shed for your contrivance chamber. It is already rather well equipped and could easily be expanded.”

“But—” protested Madame Lefoux.

“You can think of a better solution?”

“But I
hate
Countess Nadasdy.”

“I suspect you have that in common with most of her drones and some of her vampires. I will have Floote draw up the necessary documentation and make the legal
arrangements. Look on the bright side, Genevieve. At least you can temper the hive’s influence over Quesnel. He will still have his maman to teach him how to make things explode and all the wisdom of the vampires at his fingertips.”

Quesnel looked up at his mother, his big violet eyes pleading. “Please, Maman. I like to explode things!”