The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (9 page)

Countess Nadasdy laughed. “I understand the duchess is in high dudgeon. Apparently, it brings down the whole tenor of the
neighborhood. She should count her blessings; if you ask me, it could be decidedly worse.”

“It could be Boodles,” giggled Miss Dair, clearly thinking how embarrassing the duchess would find country squires hanging
about all day and night.

The duke added, “Or scandal of scandals, it could be Claret's.” He named the gentleman's club that catered to werewolves.

The vampires all laughed uproariously at that. It was creepy in its lack of decorum.

Miss Tarabotti decided in an instant that she did not like the Duke of Hematol one jot.

“Speaking of the Duchess Snodgrove.” The hive queen segued in a slithery fashion onto the subject she had really summoned
Alexia in to discuss. “What was it that happened during her ball the night before last, Miss Tarabotti?”

Alexia put her teacup down carefully into its saucer, then set both onto the tea trolley with a faint clatter. “The papers
described it accurately enough.”

“Except that you were not named in any of them,” said Lord Ambrose.

“And there was also no mention of the deceased young man being supernatural,” added Dr. Caedes.

“And no reference to the fact that you had executed the killing blow.” Countess Nadasdy sat back, a faint smile on her round
pleasant face. The smile did not sit well there, not with the four fangs and the little dents they left in those full shepherdess
lips.

Miss Tarabotti crossed her arms. “You seem well informed. Why do you need me here?”

No one said anything.

“It was an accident,” grumbled Alexia, relaxing her defensive posture. She took a bite of Battenberg without really tasting
it. It was an insult to the little cake, for it was usually good and worth appreciating: thick sponge with homemade marmalade
and crystallized almond paste on the outside. This sponge seemed dry and the almond paste gritty.

“It was a very tidy stake to the heart,” corrected Dr. Caedes.

Alexia went immediately on the defensive. “Too tidy: he barely bled. Do not blindside me with accusations, venerable ones.
I
did not drive him to starvation.” No sane person would ever describe Miss Tarabotti as a shrinking violet. When attacked,
she fought back with interest. It could have been the result of her preternatural state; then again, it could simply be a
ridiculously stubborn disposition. She spoke decidedly, as though to a sulking child. “That vampire was suffering from serious
hive neglect.

He had not even been trained out of larvae stage well enough to recognize me for what I clearly am.” If Alexia had been sitting
close enough, she probably would have prodded the queen with a sharp finger to the sternum.
Scratch me,
Alexia thought.
I'd like to see her try!
She contented herself with frowning fiercely.

Countess Nadasdy looked taken aback, not having anticipated such a shift. “He was not one of mine!” she said defensively.

Miss Tarabotti stood, back straight, glad for once that she had an assertive figure: tall enough to tower over every one but
Lord Ambrose and Dr. Caedes. “Why do you play these games with me, venerable one? Lord Maccon said he could smell your bloodline
in that dead boy. He
must
have been metamorphosed by you or one of your get. You've no right to pin
your
carelessness and inability to safeguard your own interests upon me, especially when I only acted in self-defense.” She held
up a hand to forestall interruption. “True, I have better defensive mechanisms than most daylight folk, but
I
am not the one being careless with hive blood.”

Lord Ambrose hissed, his fangs fully extended, “You go too far, Soulless.”

Miss Dair stood, one hand raised to her mouth in shock at such indelicate behavior. Her big blue eyes were wide and shifted
between Alexia and Countess Nadasdy like those of a frightened rabbit.

Miss Tarabotti ignored Lord Ambrose, which was difficult, as her skin was prickling in reaction, and the prey part of her
brain wanted desperately to run and hide behind the chaise lounge. She forced down the instinct. It was preternaturals who
hunted vampires, not the other way around. Technically, Lord Ambrose was
her
rightful prey. He should be trembling behind the sofa! She leaned on the tea trolley, bending toward the queen. She tried
to loom like Lord Maccon loomed, but suspected her green and gray check visiting dress and ample bosom mitigated any threatening
aspect.

Affecting indifference, Alexia spiked a second piece of Battenberg hard with a fork. Metal clanked loudly against serving
plate. Miss Dair jumped.

“You are correct in one aspect, Miss Tarabotti. This is
our
problem,” said the queen, “hive business. You should not be involved. BUR should not be involved, although they
will
continue to interfere. Not until
we
know more about the situation anyway. The werewolves should certainly keep their furry noses out of it!”

Miss Tarabotti pounced on the hive queen's indiscretion. “So there
has
been more than one of these mysterious vampire appearances?”

Countess Nadasdy sneered at her.

Alexia said, “The more BUR knows, the easier it will be to figure out why and how this is happening.”

“This is hive business; it is not a matter for the Registry,” the queen reiterated, saying nothing more.

“Not if unregistered roves are roaming London outside hive dominion. Then it is BUR business. Do you want to go back to the
Dark Ages, when humans feared you and preternaturals hunted you? Vampires must at least
appear
to be under government control; that is part of BUR's mandate. You and I both know that. Everyone in this room must know
that!” Miss Tarabotti spoke firmly.

“Roves! Do not talk to me about roves—nasty, ungoverned madmen, the lot of them.” Countess Nadasdy bit her lip. It was a strangely
endearing gesture from one of the oldest immortals in England.

At that sign of confusion, Alexia finally realized what was really going on. The hive queen was frightened. Like Lord Akeldama,
she expected to fully comprehend what occurred in her territory. Hundreds of years of experience colored every new occurrence
with predictability and ennui. Yet this was something new and thus outside her comprehension. Vampires did not like surprises.

“Tell me, please.” Miss Tarabotti mollified her tone. It had worked with Lord Maccon. Perhaps the trick to dealing with the
supernatural set was merely to play the social submissive. “How many have there been?”

“My queen, be cautious,” the Duke of Hematol advised.

Countess Nadasdy sighed. She looked from one to the next of the three male vampires. Then she said, “Three in the past two
weeks. We managed to catch two of them. They know nothing of vampire etiquette, are confused and disoriented, and usually
die within a few days despite our best efforts. As you say, they are ignorant of the preternatural threat, of the proper respect
due to a hive queen, and even the office of the potentate. They know little of BUR and its laws of registration. It's as though
they sprung, fully formed, onto the streets of London—like Athena from the mind of Zeus.”

“Athena was the goddess of war,” said Alexia nervously.

“In all my centuries, nothing like this has ever occurred. There were vampire hives on this tiny island before there were
human governments. The feudal system was based on hive and pack dynamics. The Roman Empire took its style of organization
and efficiency from our kind. The hive structure is more than just a social institution. It is supernatural instinct. No vampire
is born outside the hive, because only a queen can bring about metamorphosis. It has been our greatest strength, the control
this engenders, but it has also been our greatest weakness.” The countess looked down at her small hands.

Miss Tarabotti sat silent throughout this speech, watching the hive queen's face. Countess Nadasdy was definitely scared,
but there was an edge of hunger to her fear. To make vampires without a queen! The hive wanted to know how it was occurring
so they could master the technique themselves. Such a technology was more than any vampire could wish. It was one of the reasons
they invested so heavily in the modern sciences. The gadgetry in the receiving room alone was meant for more that just to
amaze and delight. The hive must boast several inventor drones. There were rumors Westminster held a controlling interest
in the Giffard dirigible company. But their real hope was always for just such a scientific breakthrough—supernatural birth
without blood bite. Miraculous, indeed.

“What will you do next?” Miss Tarabotti asked.

“I have already done it. I have involved a preternatural in hive business.”

“The potentate will not be pleased.” The Duke of Hematol seemed more resigned than annoyed. It was, in the end, his duty to
support his queen and her decisions.

The potentate served as advisor to Queen Victoria, acting the vampire equivalent of a prime minister. Usually a well-known
rove of extensive political acumen, the potentate was elected to the position by vote from all hives in the United Kingdom
and served until someone better came along. It was the only way a rove could achieve any kind of serious social standing among
the vampires of the ton. The current potentate had occupied the position since Queen Elizabeth I sat on the throne of England.
Queen Victoria was reported to find his advice invaluable, and there were rumors that the success of the British Empire was
due in large part to his skills. Of course, they said the same thing about the dewan, Her Majesty's werewolf advisor. He was
a loner who had been around almost as long as the potentate, concerned himself mostly in military matters, and stayed out
of pack squabbling. The two stood head and tail above other pack and hive outsiders as invaluable political liaisons to the
daylight camp. But like all outsiders in good faith with the establishment, they tended to forget their revolutionary roots
and side with the establishment. The potentate would bow to the hives in the end.

“The potentate is not a queen. This is hive business, not politics,” countered Countess Nadasdy sharply.

“Nevertheless, he will have to be told,” insisted the duke, running a fine-boned hand through his thinning hair.

“Why?” Lord Ambrose was clearly disinclined to tell anyone. He obviously objected to Alexia being consulted, and he certainly
did not like the idea of involving a politician.

Miss Dair cleared her throat delicately, interrupting them. “Gentlemen, I am quite certain this is a subject best left for
later.” She gestured with her head at Miss Tarabotti, who had momentarily been forgotten.

Miss Tarabotti munched down her third piece of Battenberg and tried to look cunning.

Dr. Caedes swung around and gave her a very hard look. “
You
”—his tone was excessively accusatory—“are going to be trouble. Preternaturals always are. Just you keep a careful eye on
those moon howlers you keep walking out with. Werewolves also have an agenda to keep to. You do realize that?”

“And you bloodsuckers, of course, are all sweetness and light with only my best interests at heart,” Alexia shot back, brushing
Battenberg crumbs casually off her lap.

“Look at the plucky young thing! She is trying to make a funny,” said Lord Ambrose snidely.

Miss Tarabotti stood and nodded to the assembled company. The words being bandied about were getting dangerously rude. So
rude, in fact, that unless she missed her guess, actions would soon be required. She would rather cut her visit short at words.
This seemed an opportune moment to vacate the premises.

“Thank you for a delightful visit,” she said, smiling in a way she hoped looked predatory. “It has been most”—she paused,
deliberating, choosing her words carefully—“educational.”

Miss Dair looked to the hive queen. At the countess's nod, she pulled a nearby bell rope that was discreetly hidden behind
a heavy velvet drape. The beautiful blond maid appeared once more in the doorway. Miss Tarabotti followed her out, feeling
a bit like she had just escaped the jaws of some unpleasant beast.

She was just starting down the front steps toward her cab when she was waylaid by a fierce grip on her upper arm. The lovely
Angelique was far stronger than she appeared to be. It was not supernatural strength either; she was only a drone.

“Yes?” Miss Tarabotti tried to be polite.

“You are of ze BUR?” The maid's violet eyes were wide, earnest.

Alexia did not know quite what to say to that. She did not wish to lie, for she had no official sanction. A pox on Lord Maccon
and his archaic principles! “I am not quite official, but—”

“You could take zem a message, yez?”

Miss Tarabotti nodded, leaning forward. Partly to appear interested, partly to ease the viselike grip the girl persisted in
maintaining on her arm.
Tomorrow,
she thought,
I will be covered in bruises.

“Tell me.”

Angelique glanced around. “Ask zem. Ask zem, please, to look for ze missing ones. My master, he iz a rove. He vanishez last
week. Poof.” She snapped her fingers. “Like zat. Zey brought me to ze hive because I am pretty and do good work, but ze comtesse,
she only just toleratez me. Without hiz protection, I do not know how long I will last.”

Miss Tarabotti had no idea what the girl was on about. Lord Akeldama once said hive politics put the workings of the British
government, whether daylight or shadow, to shame. She was beginning to understand the truth of his words. “Uh, I am not sure
I quite follow.”

“Please try.”

Well,
thought Alexia,
no harm in trying.
“Try to do what, exactly?”