The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (98 page)

orbitbooks.net

orbitshortfiction.com

Sometimes the necessaries are not something that can be researched. With grateful thanks to those who, wittingly or unwittingly,
found themselves tutoring my madness: Mom for the holly; Willow for the dates; Rachel my mistress of the emotional red herring;
Erin coma goddess; the Iz of continuity; and Phrannish the best wing-chick evah!

N
otation to the Records, Subject P-464-AT, Alexia Tarabotti

Archivist: Mr. Phinkerlington, junior clerk, aethographic transmission specialist, second class

Subject P-464-AT is with child, sire unknown. Subject removed from London. Subject detached from Shadow Council. Position
of muhjah vacant.

Notation to the Notation to the Records, Subject P-464-AT, Alexia Tarabotti

Archivist: Mr. Haverbink, field agent, recognizance and munitions expert, first class

Subject P-464-AT's pregnancy confirmed as direct result of union with Subject W-57790-CM, werewolf. Impregnation duly
verified by scientists in good standing and by Italian Templars (preternatural breeding program discontinued circa 1805).
(Please note: Templars classified as Threat to the Commonwealth of the Highest Order, yet their research in this is rated
Unimpeachable.) Subject P-464-AT reinstated as muhjah.

Addendum to the Notation to the Notation to the Records, Subject P-464-AT, Alexia Tarabotti

Archivist: Professor Lyall, field agent, secretary prime (aka Subject W-56889-RL)

Werewolf howlers consulted on progeny. Child most likely a soul-stealer (aka
skin-stalker
or
flayer
). Templar records reported to indicate this implies ability to be both mortal and immortal. Potentate, Lord Akeldama (aka
Subject V-322-XA), concurs. Subject P-464-AT says she believes “the horrible man said something along the lines of… a
creature that can both walk and crawl and that rides the soul as a knight will ride his steed.” (Please note: suspect “horrible
man” is reference to Florentine preceptor of the Knights Templar.)

Only previous recorded example of a soul-stealer was Al-Zabba (aka Zenobia, Queen of the Palmyrene, no subject number). Understood
to be related to Sub
ject V-322-XA, Akeldama. (He won't reveal the details—you know vampires.) Zenobia most likely result of union between Vampire
Queen and Male Preternatural (subjects unknown). It is thus impossible to say if her abilities will be comparable to those
of the forthcoming Subject P-464-AT progeny, as this child is the result of Female Preternatural and Alpha Werewolf union.
In either case, type of manifestation unknown.

Suggest new classification for progeny: M for metanatural.

Additional Addendum for Consideration: Vampires clearly desire progeny eliminated, at expense of Subject P-464-AT. It is this
archivist's belief that it is in the best interest of the Commonwealth to see this child born, for scientific purposes if
nothing else. Have consulted with Subject V-322-XA, Akeldama, and believe we have a solution to vampire negativity.

F
ive months! Five months you—dare I say it—
gentlemen
have been sitting on this little scheme of yours and only now you decide to inform me of it!” Lady Alexia Maccon did not
enjoy being surprised by declarations of intent. She glared at the men before her. Fully grown, and a goodly number of centuries
older than she, yet they still managed to look like shamefaced little boys.

The three gentlemen, despite identical expressions of sheepishness, were as dissimilar as men of fashion and social standing
could possibly be. The first was large and slightly unkempt. His perfectly tailored evening jacket draped about massive shoulders
with a degree of reluctance, as if it were well aware that it was worn under sufferance. The other two existed in far more
congenial partnerships with their apparel, although, with the first, dress was a matter of subtlety and, with the second,
a form of artistic, nigh declamatory, expression.

Lady Maccon was not looking fearsome enough to
inspire feelings of embarrassment in any gentleman, fashionable or no. Perilously close to her confinement at almost eight
months, she had the distinct appearance of a stuffed goose with bunions.

“We didna want to worry you overly,” ventured her husband. His voice was gruff in an attempt at calm solicitude. The Earl
of Woolsey's tawny eyes were lowered, and his hair might actually have been dampened.

“Oh, and the constant vampire death threats are so very restful for a woman in my condition?” Alexia was having none of it.
Her voice was shrill enough to disturb Lord Akeldama's cat, normally a most unflappable creature. The chubby calico opened
one yellow eye and yawned.

“But isn't it the most
perfect
solution, my little lilac bush?” exalted Lord Akeldama, petting the cat back into purring, boneless relaxation. The vampire's
discomfiture was the most manufactured of the three. There was a twinkle in his beautiful eyes, however downcast. It was the
twinkle of a man about to get his own way.

“What, to lose possession of my own child? For goodness' sake, I may be soulless and I am, admittedly, not precisely maternal,
but I am by no means heartless. Really, Conall, how could you agree to this? Without consulting me!”

“Wife, did you miss the fact that the entire pack has been on constant bodyguard duty for the past five months? It's exhausting,
my dear.”

Lady Maccon adored her husband. She was particularly fond of the way he strode about shirtless in a fit of pique, but she
was finding she didn't actually like him at the moment—the fathead. She was also suddenly hungry, a terrible bother, as it
distracted her from her irritation.

“Oh, indeed, and how do you think I feel being on the
receiving end of such constant supervision? But, Conall,
adoption
!” Alexia stood and began to pace about. Or, to be more precise, waddle fiercely. For once, she was blind to the gilded beauty
of Lord Akeldama's drawing room.
I should have known better than to agree to a meeting here,
she thought.
Something untoward always occurs in Lord Akeldama's drawing room.

“The queen thinks it's a good plan.” That was Professor Lyall joining the fray. His was probably the most genuine regret,
as he disliked confrontation. He was also the one truly responsible for this plot, unless Alexia was very wrong in her estimation
of his character.

“Bully for the ruddy queen. Absolutely not—I refuse.”

“Now, Alexia, my dearest, be reasonable.” Her husband was trying to wheedle. He wasn't very good at it—wheedling looked odd
on a man of his proportions and monthly inclinations.

“Reasonable? Go boil your head in reasonable!”

Lord Akeldama tried a new tactic. “I have already converted the room next to mine into a positively charming nursery, my little
pomegranate
seed.”

Lady Maccon was really quite shocked to hear that. She paused in her wrath and her waddling to blink at the vampire in surprise.
“Not your second closet? Never that.”

“Indeed. You see how
seriously
I am taking this, my dearest petal? I have relocated
clothing
for you.”

“For my child, you mean.” But Alexia was impressed despite herself.

She looked to Lyall for assistance and tried desperately to calm herself and behave as practically as possible. “And this
will stop the attacks?”

Professor Lyall nodded, pushing his spectacles up with
one finger. They were an affectation—he had no need of them—but they gave him something to hide behind. And something to fiddle
with. “I believe so. I have not, of course, been able to consult with any queens outright. The hives refuse to admit to an
extermination mandate, and BUR has not yet determined how to prove definitively the vampires are”—he coughed gently—“trying
to kill your child. And by default, you.”

Alexia knew that the Bureau of Unnatural Registry was handicapped by a combination of paperwork and proper appearances. That
is to say, because it was the enforcing body for England's supernatural and preternatural subjects, it had to seem at all
times to be obeying its own laws, including those that guaranteed the packs and the hives some level of autonomy and self-governance.

“Monsieur Trouvé's homicidal mechanical ladybugs?”

“Never did trace the vampires' agent in Europe.”

“The exploding gravy boat?”

“No appreciable evidence left behind.”

“The flaming Mongolian poodle?”

“No connection to any known dealer.”

“The poisoned dirigible meal that Mr. Tunstell consumed in my stead?”

“Well, given the general foulness of food while floating, that could simply have been a coincidence.” Professor Lyall removed
his spectacles and began to clean the clear lenses with a spotless white handkerchief.

“Oh, Professor Lyall, are you making a funny? It doesn't suit you.”

The sandy-haired Beta gave Lady Maccon a dour look. “I am exploring new personality avenues.”

“Well, stop it.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Alexia straightened her spine as much as her protruding belly would allow and looked down her nose at Professor Lyall where
he sat, legs crossed elegantly. “Explain to me how you have arrived at this solution. Also, given that you have not proposed
this scheme to the hives, how do you know with such confidence that it will stop this annoying little tick they seem to have
developed wherein they continually try to murder me?”

Professor Lyall looked helplessly at his coconspirators. Lord Maccon, with a wide grin, slouched back into the golden velvet
settee, making it creak in protest. Neither Lord Akeldama nor any of his drones were built to Lord Maccon's scale. The couch
was overwhelmed by the experience. It had this in common with a good deal of furniture.

Lord Akeldama merely continued to twinkle unhelpfully.

Clearly surmising that he had been left out to dry, Professor Lyall took a long breath. “How did you know it was my idea?”

Alexia crossed her arms over her very ample chest. “My dear sir, give me
some
credit.”

Professor Lyall put his glasses back on. “Well, we know that the vampires are afraid of what your child could be, but I think
they are wise enough to know that if raised with the proper precautions, even the most natural-born predator will behave in
an entirely civilized fashion. You, for example.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow.

Her husband snorted derisively.

Professor Lyall refused to be intimidated. “You may be a tad outrageous, Lady Maccon, but you
are
always civilized.”

“Hear, hear,” added Lord Akeldama, raising a long-stemmed glass and then taking a sip of the pink fizzy drink within.

Lady Maccon inclined her head. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

Professor Lyall soldiered bravely on. “It is vampire nature to believe that any vampire, even—you'll pardon the insult, my
lord—Lord Akeldama, will instill the correct ethical code in a child. A vampire father would ensure the baby is kept away
from the corruption of Americans, Templars, and other like-minded antisupernatural elements. And, of course, you, Lord and
Lady Maccon. Simply put, the hives will feel like they are in control, and all death threats should stop as a result.”

Alexia looked at Lord Akeldama. “Do you agree with that prediction?”

Lord Akeldama nodded. “Yes, my
dearest
marigold.”

The earl was beginning to look less annoyed and more thoughtful.

Professor Lyall continued. “Lord Akeldama seemed the best solution.”

Lord Maccon wrinkled his nose at that and huffed derisively.

Professor Lyall, Lord Akeldama, and Alexia all pretended not to hear.

“He is more powerful than any other rove in the area. He has a goodly number of drones. He is centrally located, and as potentate,
he carries the authority of Queen Victoria. Few would dare interfere with his household.”

Lord Akeldama tapped Lyall playfully with the back of one hand. “Dolly, you flatterer, you.”

Professor Lyall ignored this. “He is also your friend.”

Lord Akeldama looked up to his ceiling, as though contemplating possible new canoodling for the painted cherubs depicted there.
“I have also implied that because of a certain unmentionable incident this winter, the hives owe me a debt of honor. My potentate
predecessor may have taken matters into his own lily-white hands, but
the fact remains
that the hives should have exerted some control over his activities on their behalf. His kidnapping of
my droney poo
was
utterly
inexcusable, and they are very well aware of that
little
fact. I hold a blood debt and intend to bite them back with this arrangement.”

Alexia looked at her friend. His posture and demeanor were as relaxed and frivolous as ever, but there was a hardness about
his mouth that suggested he actually meant what he was saying. “That is a rather serious statement coming from you, my lord.”

The vampire smiled, showing fang. “Better revel in the experience, my little
cream puff.
It will probably never occur again.”

Lady Maccon nibbled at her lower lip and went to sit in one of Lord Akeldama's more upright chairs. She found it tricky these
days to extract herself from couches and love seats and preferred simply not to get involved with plushy furniture.

“Oh, I can't think.” She rubbed at her belly, annoyed at the fuzziness in her own brain, the persistent product of lack of
sleep, physical discomfort, and hunger. She seemed to spend all her time either eating or dozing—sometimes dozing while eating
and, once or twice, eating while dozing. Pregnancy had given her a new window into the human capacity for consumption.

“Oh, blast it, I'm positively starving.”

Instantly, all three men proffered up comestibles extracted from inner waistcoat pockets. Professor Lyall's offering was a
ham sandwich wrapped in brown paper, Lord Maccon's a weather-beaten apple, and Lord Akeldama's a small box of Turkish delight.
Months of training had seen the entire werewolf household running attendance on an increasingly grumpy Alexia and learning,
to a man, that if food was not provided promptly, fur might fly, or worse, Lady Maccon would start to weep. As a result, several
of the pack now crinkled as they moved, having desperately stashed snacks all about their personage.

Alexia opted for all three offerings and began to eat, starting with the Turkish delight. “So you are genuinely disposed toward
adopting my child?” she asked Lord Akeldama between bites, and then looked at her husband. “And
you
are willing to allow it?”

The earl lost his amused attitude and knelt before his wife, looking up at her. He put his hands on her knees. Even through
all her layers of skirts, Alexia could feel the wide roughness of his palms. “I'm taxing BUR and the pack to keep you safe,
wife. I've even contemplated calling in the Coldsteam Guards.” Curse him for looking so handsome when he came over all bashful
and sincere. It quite undid her resolve. “Not that I would do it any differently. I protect my own. But Queen Victoria would
be livid if I pulled military strings in a personal matter. Well, more livid than she already is over my killing the potentate.
We must be clever. They're older and craftier and they'll keep trying. We canna continue on like this for the rest of our
child's life.”

Perhaps he has learned something about pragmatism being married to me,
Alexia thought.
Oh, but why'd he have to turn all sensible now?
She tried desperately not to
fly into a tizzy over his unilateral handling of the situation. She knew that it cost Conall a terrible price to admit to
any kind of inability. He liked to think he was all-powerful.