The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (140 page)

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.

I
t'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.”

Dr. Caedes sprang into action. “At once, My Queen!” He vanished from the room.

While they waited for him to return, Alexia turned to the new arrivals. “Good evening, Madame Lefoux. Miss Dair.”

“Lady Maccon, how do you do?” replied the actress. Hands were clasped to her trembling bosom, and the bulk of her attention was still centered on the dying girl.

Madame Lefoux merely tipped her head in Alexia's direction and gave her a small, tight smile. Then she returned her attention to the actress, placing a solicitous arm about the woman's waist.

Dr. Caedes returned, bearing a small silver goblet with some kind of lid attached to the top. It looked like those cup attachments designed for gentlemen with mustaches. He passed it to the queen, who took it in one hand.

“Prepare the girl.”

Dr. Caedes grabbed the comatose woman by the
shoulders and shifted her into his mistress's lap. His supernatural strength made the task an easy one, even had the girl not been relatively slight. He turned her head so that she rested with the side of her neck exposed.

The queen took a drink from the goblet, swished the contents around in her mouth, and paused, an intense look of contemplation on her face. Then Countess Nadasdy bared her teeth, both the longer regular fangs, the feeders, and the smaller fangs to either side, the makers. Alexia wasn't quite certain on the logistics of vampire metamorphosis. They were secretive about the details, and rarely were scientists, save their own, permitted to observe. But she knew the current theory held that feeders sucked the blood out while makers pumped blood in, so metamorphosis occurred by process of the queen literally giving her own blood over to the new vampire.

The countess opened her mouth wide. The makers were dripping perfect drops of dark blood, almost black. Alexia wondered if the contents of the sippy goblet acted as a catalyst.

Dr. Caedes bent and looked into his queen's mouth. “I believe we may proceed, My Queen.”

Lady Maccon could only hope that the vampire metamorphosis process was less brutal than the werewolves. Her husband had practically eaten Lady Kingair whole in order to change her. It was most indelicate. The last thing Alexia wanted was to witness the vampire version of a three-course meal.

“Should we be watching this? Isn't unbirth a matter for family intimates only?” Alexia asked Major Channing on a hiss.

“I think we are remaining as witnesses apurpose, my
lady. She wants to prove her strength.” The major seemed not at all perturbed by the prospect.

“Does she? Why? Did I look as though I doubted it?”

“No. But our Alpha has managed two successful metamorphoses in the past three years. That has got to smart something awful for the vampires.”

“You mean, I have stumbled into some kind of eternal tiddlywinks match? Who can make the most immortals? What are you people, schoolroom children?”

Major Channing tilted his hands, palms up, in supplication.

“Oh, for goodness' sake,” said Alexia, and then hushed, for the countess was biting down at last.

It was a good deal more elegant than with the werewolves at first. Countess Nadasdy sank her feeder fangs deep into the flesh of the girl's neck and then kept going until she was far enough in for the maker fangs to sink in as well. She cradled both arms about the woman and leaned back so that she was held up to her mouth like a tea sandwich. The girl's slack white face tilted toward the small audience. Countess Nadasdy closed her eyes, assuming an expression of ecstatic bliss. She moved not one muscle, except that Alexia could see a strange up and down fluttering in her neck, like a cow regurgitating its cud, only faster, smaller, and in both directions.

Asphodel remained limp in her mistress's arms for a long while, until her whole body jerked—once. Alexia jumped in reaction, as did Major Channing. Madame Lefoux gave them both a quelling look.

Asphodel's eyes popped open, wide, startled, looking directly at the observers. Then she began to scream. It was a deep, drawn-out cry of agony. Her pupils dilated,
darkening and changing color, extending outward until her entire eyeball was a solid deep red.

The girl's eyes began to bleed. Drops of blood leaked out, running down the sides of her face and dripping off her nose. Her screams became gargles as blood began to pour out of her mouth, muffling the cries.

Dr. Caedes said, “Enough, My Queen. It isn't taking. There will be no making this one over.”

The hive queen only continued to suck, her expression beatific. Her arms were beginning to lose their hold, however, and she was sagging over the girl.

Dr. Caedes stepped forward and ripped Asphodel off of his queen's fangs. Under normal circumstances, Alexia suspected he would not have been able to do so. All vampires were strong, but queens were reputed to be the strongest of them all. However, the countess's beautiful eyes, when they finally opened, were sunken with exhaustion.

Dr. Caedes yanked the maid from the countess's grasp and threw her to the floor like a used dishrag. The girl convulsed one final time and stilled.

Alexia went to bend over her solicitously, careful not to touch her in case, somehow, this was all as it was meant to be, and preternatural contact might interfere with the process of metamorphosis. The girl, however, was motionless. Lady Maccon looked up from her crouch at Major Channing. The werewolf shook his blond head.

Dr. Caedes spoke into the shocked quiet of the Blue Room. “My Queen, it did not take. You need to feed and restore your strength. Please, put the makers away. I will call in the drones.”

Countess Nadasdy turned an unfocused gaze onto her
vampire companion. “Didn't it work? Another one gone. How unfortunate. I shall have to buy a new dress, then.” She looked around, catching sight of the fallen girl and Lady Maccon bent over her. She laughed. “There's nothing you can do, soul-sucker.”

Alexia stood, feeling queasy.

There was blood everywhere. Soaked into the countess's green gown, splattered across the cream and blue carpet, and pooling under the body of the unfortunate girl. It was really more than any lady should have to tolerate when making a social call.

Dr. Caedes gestured Mabel Dair forward. “See to your mistress, Miss Dair.”

“Certainly, Doctor. At once.” Mabel ran to the countess, her golden curls bouncing, and offered up her wrist.

Dr. Caedes followed, reaching around to support his queen's head. “Now remember, only feeders. You are weak, My Queen.”

Countess Nadasdy drank for a long time from the actress's wrist, everyone watching in silence. Mabel Dair stood still and quiet in her beautiful bronze dress, but soon the rose bloom on her perfect round cheeks began to fade.

Dr. Caedes said gently, “Enough, My Queen.”

Countess Nadasdy did not stop.

Madame Lefoux strode forward. Her movements were angular and sharp under the impeccable cut of her evening jacket. She grabbed Miss Dair's arm above the wrist and jerked it off the vampire queen's teeth, causing both women to gasp in surprise.

“He said enough.”

The countess glared at the Frenchwoman. “Don't you dare dictate to me,
drone
.”

“Haven't you had sufficient blood for one evening?” The inventor gestured with her hand at the body and the mess that resulted.

Countess Nadasdy licked her lips. “And yet, I am still hungry.”

The Frenchwoman lurched away. Dr. Caedes stopped her by placing his hands on her shoulders. “You don't want the queen to take from Miss Dair anymore, do you, Madame Lefoux? Offering yourself in her place, are you? That's very generous. Especially considering how cautious you have been with your blood since you came to us.”

Madame Lefoux pushed her hair back behind her ears, defiantly. She'd let it grow longer since becoming a drone, but it was still too short for a woman. She offered up her wrist without protest. The countess sank in her fangs. Madame Lefoux looked away.

“Perhaps the major and I should make our farewells,” suggested Alexia, uncomfortable witnessing Genevieve's pretend disinterest. At which juncture they did, leaving Madame Lefoux dismissive, Mabel Dair drained, Dr. Cedes distracted, and the countess still at tea.

Fenchurch Street wasn't Alexia's favorite station. It was too close to the London Docks and, of course, the Tower of London. There was something about the Tower, with all its ghosts that would not be exorcized, that gave her the squirms. It was as if they were dinner guests who had overstayed their welcome.

Lady Maccon and Major Channing alighted. It was the
quietest time of the night, so there were no porters to be found. Lady Maccon sat in the first-class waiting room alone, impatient, while Major Channing went to see about a hackney.

A man unlike any Alexia had ever encountered burst in through the door just after Channing vanished out of sight. Alexia knew there were such people about London, but not in her part of the city! His hair was long and shaggy. His face was sunburned like that of a sailor. His beard was ferocious and untended. However, Alexia did not fear him, for the man appeared to be in a state of extreme distress, and he knew her name.

“Lady Maccon! Lady Maccon.”

He spoke with a Scottish accent. His voice was vaguely familiar, for all that it was faint and cracked. For the life of her, Alexia couldn't place that gaunt, cooked-lobster face, not under all that unkempt.

She looked down her nose at the man. “Do I
know
you, sir?”

“Yes, my lady. Dubh.” He cracked a weak smile. “I'm a mite different from when you saw me last.”

The werewolf could not be but understating the case. Dubh had not been a particularly handsome or agreeable man, but now he was positively unsightly. A Scotsman, to be sure, and Alexia acknowledged her preferences seemed to lean in that direction. In the past, the man had not behaved much to Alexia's taste, having engaged in a bout of fisticuffs with Conall that destroyed most of a dining room and an entire plate of meringues. “Why, Mr. Dubh, what has brought about such a need for the barber? Are you unwell? Have you been the victim of an anarchist outrage?”

Alexia made to move over to him, for he had propped himself against the jamb of the door and seemed likely to slide right down it and fold up upon the floor.

“No, my lady, I beg you. I could not stand your touch.”

“But, my dear sir, let me summon help. You have been much missed. Your Alpha is here in London looking for you. I could send Major Channing to fetch—”

“No, please, my lady, only listen. I have waited to catch you alone. 'Tis a matter for you alone. Your household… your household is nae safe. It is nae contained.”

“Do go on.”

“Your da… what he did… in Egypt. You need tae stop it.”

“What? What did he do?”

“The mummies, my lady, they—”

A gunshot fired clear and sharp in the silence of the station. Lady Maccon cried out as a bloom of red blood appeared on Dubh's chest. The Beta looked utterly surprised, raising both hands to cup over the wound.

He pitched forward, facedown, showing that he had been shot in the back.

Alexia clasped her hands together and willed herself to stay away, although all her instincts urged her to help the injured man. She yelled out at the very top of her lungs, “Major Channing, Major Channing, come quickly! Something
untoward
has occurred.”