“Yes,” said the earl’s wife, deadpan, “I daily face a similar dilemma, frequently when he and I are in conversation. What has he gone and done now?”

Professor Lyall smiled slightly. “Oh no, nothing like that. It is simply that the plague of humanization has struck again, moving northward as far as Farthinghoe.”

Alexia frowned at this new information. “Curious. It is on the move, is it?”

“And heading in the same direction as Lord Maccon. Though slightly ahead of him.”

“And he doesn’t know that, does he?”

Lyall shook his head.

“That family matter, it’s the dead Alpha, isn’t it?”

Lyall ignored this and said, “Don’t know quite how it’s moving so fast. The trains have been down since yesterday—strike. Trust the daylight folk to become inefficient at a time like this.”

“By coach, perhaps?”

“Could be. It seems to be moving quickly. I should like to make the earl aware of this information, but there is no way to contact him until he arrives at the Glasgow offices. Not to mention Channing’s blather about the boat ride over. This thing is mobile and Conall doesn’t know that.”

“You think he might overtake it?”

The Beta shook his head again. “Not at the rate it is moving. Lord Maccon is fast, but he said he was not going to push this run. If it keeps traveling north at the rate I predict, it will hit Scotland several days before he does. I have sent a note to our agents in the north, but I thought you should know as well, as muhjah.”

Alexia nodded.

“Will you inform the other members of the Shadow Council?”

Lady Maccon frowned at that. “I do not think that is entirely wise just yet. I think it might wait until our next meeting. You should file a report, of course, but I shall not go out of my way to tell the potentate and the dewan.”

The Beta nodded and did not inquire as to her reasons.

“Very well, Professor Lyall. If there is nothing else, I should be off. I have need of Lord Akeldama’s council.”

Professor Lyall gave her an unreadable look. “Well, I suppose someone must. Good evening, Lady Maccon.”

Alexia left without ever having shown Professor Lyall her new parasol.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lord Akeldama’s Latest

Lord Akeldama was indeed in residence and willing to receive Alexia. Despite the rudeness of her unannounced visit, he seemed genuinely pleased to see her. It was difficult to tell through the vampire’s self-consciously frivolous mannerisms, but Alexia thought she detected real warmth beneath the flatterings and flutterings.

The ancient vampire sashayed forward to greet her, both arms extended, dressed in his version of the “casual gentleman at home.” For most men of means and taste, this meant a smoking jacket, opera scarf, long trousers, and soft-soled derbies. For Lord Akeldama, this meant that the jacket was of pristine white silk with black embroidered birds of some lean oriental persuasion splashed about, the scarf a bright peacock-patterned teal, the trousers the latest in tight-fitting black jacquard, and the shoes cut in a flashy wingtip style with a black and white spectator coloration that was held by many to be rather vulgar.

“My darling Alexia. How fortuitous. I have just received delivery of the most divine new plaything. You must take a gander and give me your expert opinion!” Lord Akeldama addressed Lady Maccon by her given name and had done so since the night they met. And yet, Alexia realized for the first time as she took his hands in a firm grip, she had no idea what his was.

At the preternatural contact, Lord Akeldama turned from supernaturally beautiful, his skin ice white and his blond hair shining gold, to the merely pretty young man he had once been before his metamorphosis.

Lady Maccon kissed him softly on both cheeks, as though he were a child. “And how are you this evening, my lord?”

He leaned against her, momentarily calm in his fully human state, before resuming his animated chatter. “Perfectly splendid, my little tea biscuit, perfectly splendid. There is a mystery waffling about London town, and I am immersed in the thick of it. You know how I do so dearly love a mystery.” He kissed her back, a loud smack to the forehead, and then released her hands to curl his arm affectionately with hers.

“And it has certainly been all abuzz around my humble little abode since the excitement of yesterday.” He led her into said abode, which was anything but humble. It had an extravagant arched and frescoed hallway with marble busts of pagan gods. “I suppose, you know all about it, you high-powered political daffodil, you.”

Alexia loved Lord Akeldama’s drawing room, not that she could tolerate it in her own house, but it was a nice place to visit. It was quite old-fashioned in appearance, white and gilded gold like something from a French painting of pre-Napoleonic times.

The vampire unceremoniously ejected a fat calico from her slumbering possession of a gold brocade love seat with tasseled trim and settled gracefully into her place. Lady Maccon seated herself in an armchair nearby, one that felt deliciously thronelike.

“Well, my creamy pudding cup, Biffy told me the most attractive little story last night.” Lord Akeldama’s ethereal face was intent under its unnecessary coating of white powder and pink blush. “Quite the bedtime romance.”

Lady Maccon was not certain she wanted to hear this story. “Oh, uh, did he? Where is Biffy, by the way? Is he about?”

Lord Akeldama fiddled with his gold monocle. The glass was, of course, plain. Like all vampires, he had perfect vision. “La, the troublesome boy is causing mischief somewhere not too far away, I am certain. He is in a bit of a kerfuffle over a necktie, but never mind that; you must permit me to tell you what he saw yester eve.”

Lady Maccon forestalled him. “Before you do, my lord, might we send round an invitation to a new acquaintance I have made? I should very much like the two of you to know one another.”

That stalled Lord Akeldama. “Really, my darling little kumquat, how thoughtful. Who is he?”

“She is one Madame Lefoux.”

Lord Akeldama smiled slightly at that. “I did hear you had been hat shopping recently.”

Alexia gasped. “How did you know that? Oh, how vexatious! Do you mean to say that you are already acquainted with the lady? Madame Lefoux indicated nothing to that effect.”

“You can hardly expect me to reveal my sources, snow drop. As to the rest, I do not know her; I merely know of her, and I should enjoy meeting her socially very much indeed. I hear she affects masculine garb! I shall send a card directly.” He reached to pull a small bell rope. “So, do tell: what did you purchase from the scandalous Frenchwoman, my little clementine?”

Alexia showed him the parasol.

Lord Akeldama was alarmed by its appearance. “Oh dear, it is rather”—he cleared his throat—“loud, is it not?”

Alexia thought that rich coming from a man wearing black and white wingtip shoes and a teal scarf. She said only, “Yes, but it does the most delicious things.” She was about to explain further when a polite knock interrupted them, and Biffy trotted into the room.

“You rang?” Biffy was an agreeable young blunt with stylish proclivities and prodigious physical charms who always seemed to turn up when least expected and most wanted. Had he not been born into wealth and status, he might have made for an excellent butler. He was Lord Akeldama’s favorite drone, although the vampire would never confess openly to having favorites any more than he would wear the same waistcoat two days running. Alexia had to admit there was something special about Biffy. He was certainly a dab hand with the curling iron, better at hair arrangements than even the otherwise unparalleled Angelique.

“Biffy, my dove, dash round to that scrumptious new hat shop on Regent Street and collect the proprietress for a bit of a hobnob, would you, darling? There’s a good fellow. She should be expecting something of the kind.”

Biffy smiled. “Certainly, my lord. Good evening, Lady Maccon. Is this arrangement of your making? You know the master here has been dying to meet Madame Lefoux ever since she opened that shop, with no excuse to do so for an age.”

“Biffy!” hissed Lord Akeldama.

“Well, you have,” replied Biffy truculently.

“Off with you, you impossible infant, and keep that lovely mouth shut.”

Biffy bowed shortly and tripped lightly out, lifting his hat and gloves from a nearby side table as he went.

“That young whippersnapper will be the death of me. However, he has an admirable knack for being in the right place at the right time. Yesterday evening, for example, he was outside the Pickled Crumpet, that horrible little pub near St. Bride, known for a preponderance of military and blood whores. Not his normal watering hole by any means. And you will never guess whom he encountered skulking about the back alleyway, just behind the pub.”

Lady Maccon sighed. “My husband?”

Lord Akeldama was crestfallen. “He told you.”

“No, it simply seems like the exact kind of place where my husband would be skulking.”

“Well, let me tell you, my petunia blossom! Biffy says that he was in a perfectly indelicate condition, trying to make his way toward Fleet Street.”

“Inebriated?” Lady Maccon was doubtful. Generally speaking, werewolves were not prone to intoxication. Their constitutions did not allow for it. Besides which, that simply was not like her husband.

“Oh no. The poor dear had encountered that disastrous malady ravaging the downtown area and found himself entirely human and unclothed quite suddenly in the heart of London.”

Lord Akeldama’s eyes were twinkling.

Lady Maccon could not help herself; she began to laugh. “No wonder he did not tell me about the incident. Poor thing.”

“Not that Biffy complained about the spectacle.”

“Well, who would?” Alexia had to give credit where it was due, and her husband did have quite the splendid physique. “That is interesting, though. It means that one does not have to be present when this antisupernatural blight attacks. One can wander into the infected area and be struck down.”

“You think it is a disease of some kind, do you, my little pumpernickel?”

Lady Maccon cocked her head to one side. “I do not know with any certainty what it may be. What do you think it is?”

Lord Akeldama rang a different bell rope for tea. “I believe it to be a weapon of some kind,” he said, unusually blunt.

“You have heard of something like it before?” Lady Maccon sat up straight, intent on her friend. Lord Akeldama was a very old vampire. There were rumors he was older even than Countess Nadasdy, and everyone knew she was five hundred or more.

The vampire tossed his queue of long blond hair back off his shoulder. “No, I have not. But it does not have the feel of a sickness about it, and my experience with the Hypocras Club has taught me not to underestimate modern scientists and their vulgar technological dabblings.”

Lady Maccon nodded. “I agree, and so does the rest of the Shadow Council. BUR is holding out that it is a disease, but I am leaning in favor of a newly fashioned weapon. Have your boys found out anything of significance?”

Lord Akeldama puffed out his cheeks. He did not like open acknowledgment that his collection of apparently decorative and inconsequential drones, possessed of high family connection and little evident sense, were in fact consummate spies. He resigned himself to Alexia, and, via Alexia, to Lord Maccon and BUR, knowing of his activities, but he did not like them mentioned openly.

“Not as much as I had hoped. Although one of the ships, the Spanker, transporting multiple regiments and associated packs, was said to be afflicted by a human condition the entire passage home.”

“Yes, Major Channing mentioned something of the kind. Although the Woolsey Pack had returned to supernatural normalcy by the time they reached the castle.”

“And what do we think of Major Channing?”

“We try not to think on that repulsive individual at all.”

Lord Akeldama laughed, and a handsome young butler entered with the tea tray. “You know, I once tried to recruit him, decades ago.”

“Did you really?” Lady Maccon could not countenance the idea; for one thing, she did not believe Major Channing leaned in Lord Akeldama’s direction, although there were rumors about military men.

“He was a splendid sculptor before he turned. Did you know? We all knew he had a good chance of having excess soul; vampires and werewolves were vying to be his patron. Such a sweet young talented thing.”

“We are discussing the same Major Channing, are we not?”

“He rebuffed me and went into soldiering, thought it more romantic. Eventually, he was converted to the fuzzy side of the supernatural during the Napoleonic war.”