The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (133 page)

“She has the law on her side.”

Alexia clutched at her stomach and moaned. She was being flooded by the most overwhelming sensation—the need to push downward.
“So?”

“You are muhjah.”

“I might have been able to come up with a solution.”

“I hate her more than anything. First she steals Angelique, and now Quesnel! What right has she to—”

“And your solution is to build a ruddy great octopus? Really, Genevieve, don't you think you might have overreacted?”

“The OBO is on my side.”

“Oh, are they really? Now that
is
interesting. That plus taking in former Hypocras members?” Alexia was momentarily distracted by the need to give birth. “Oh,
yes, husband, I meant to tell you this. It seems the OBO is developing an antisupernatural agenda. You might want to look
into—“ She broke off to let out another scream. “My goodness, that
is
uncommonly painful.”

Lord Maccon turned ferocious yellow eyes on the inventor. “Enough. She has other things to attend to.”

Genevieve looked closely at Alexia. “True, that does
seem to be the case. My lord, have you ever delivered a baby before?”

The earl paled as much as was possible, which was a good deal more than normal given he was holding on to his wife's hand.
“I delivered a litter of kittens once.”

The Frenchwoman nodded. “Not quite the same thing. What about Professor Lyall?”

Lord Maccon looked wild-eyed. “Mostly sheep, I think.”

Alexia looked up between contractions. “Were you there when Quesnel was born?”

The Frenchwoman nodded. “Yes, but so was the midwife. I think I remember the principles, and, of course, I've read a good
deal on the subject.”

Alexia relaxed slightly. Books always made her feel better. Another wave washed through her and she cried out.

Lord Maccon looked sternly at Madame Lefoux. “Make it stop!”

Both women ignored him.

A polite tap came at the door. Madame Lefoux cracked it open.

Floote stood there, his back stiff, his expression one of studied indifference. “Clean cloth, bandages, hot water, and tea,
madam.” He passed the necessities in.

“Oh, thank you, Floote.” The Frenchwoman took the items gratefully. After a moment's thought, she rested them on top of the
comatose Biffy, since he was the only vacant surface. “Any words of advice?”

“Madam, sometimes even I am out of options.”

“Very good, Floote. Keep the tea coming.”

“Of course, madam.”

Which was why, some six hours later, Alexia Maccon's daughter was born inside the head of an octomaton in the presence of
her husband, a comatose werewolf dandy, and a French inventor.

L
ater on, Lady Maccon was to describe that particular day as the worst of her life. She had neither the soul nor the romanticism
to consider childbirth magical or emotionally transporting. So far as she could gather, it mostly involved pain, indignity,
and mess. There was nothing engaging or appealing about the process. And, as she told her husband firmly, she intended never
to go through it again.

Madame Lefoux acted as midwife. In her scientific way, she was unexpectedly adept at the job. When the infant finally appeared,
she held it up for Alexia to see, rather proudly as though she'd done all the hard work herself.

“Goodness,” said an exhausted Lady Maccon, “are babies customarily that repulsive looking?”

Madame Lefoux pursed her lips and turned the infant about, as though she hadn't quite looked closely before. “I assure you,
the appearance improves with time.”

Alexia held out her arms—her dress was already ruined
anyway—and received the pink wriggling thing into her embrace. She smiled up at her husband. “I told you it would be a girl.”

“Why isna she crying?” complained Lord Maccon. “Shouldna she be crying? Aren't all bairns supposed to cry?”

“Perhaps she's mute,” suggested Alexia. “Be a sensible thing with parents like us.”

Lord Maccon looked properly horrified at the idea.

Alexia grinned even more broadly as she came to a wonderful realization. “Look! I'm not repelled by her. No feelings of revulsion
at all. She must be human, not a preternatural. How marvelous!”

A tap came at the octomaton door.

“Yes?” Lord Maccon sung out. He'd decided to stop worrying about the child and was crouched down cooing over her and making
silly faces.

Professor Lyall looked in. He'd apparently found the time to change out of the improvised toga and into perfectly respectable
attire. He caught sight of his Alpha, who looked up and beamed proudly.

“Randolph, I have a daughter!”

“Felicitations, my lord, my lady.”

Alexia nodded politely from her makeshift bed in the corner of the octomaton, only then noticing that she was resting against
a pile of cords and springs, and there was some kind of valve digging into the small of her back. “Thank you, Professor. And
it would appear that she is not a curse-breaker.”

The Beta looked over at the child with a flash of academic interest but no real surprise. “She isn't? I thought preternaturals
always breed true.”

“Apparently not.”

“Well, that is good news. However, and I do hate to interrupt the blessed event, but, my lord, we have several difficulties
at the moment that could very much use your attention. Do you think we might repair to a more hospitable venue?”

Lord Maccon crouched over his wife and nuzzled her neck gently. “My dear?”

Alexia stroked his hair back from the temple with her free hand. “I'll give it a try. I would dearly love to be in my own
bed.”

Lady Maccon had to hold on to both her newborn child and Biffy as Lord Maccon carried her and Professor Lyall carried Biffy
back up to the castle. At which juncture Conall declared that Woolsey
smelled rotten.

Professor Lyall opened his mouth to explain but caught a sharp look from Alexia. So he refrained.

Predicting that his Alpha would find out soon enough on his own, the Beta carried Biffy down to a cell, tended to the pup's
still-angry burns with a pat of butter, and chivied him in with the Duke of Hematol as the best of a bad lot of options.

Upstairs it was decided that Madame Lefoux should also be locked up.

“Put her into the one next to the countess and Quesnel,” suggested Lady Maccon snidely to her confused husband. “Now, there
will be an interesting conversation come nightfall.”

“The countess? Countess who?”

Alexia contemplated letting Quesnel out—after all, the boy hadn't done anything wrong—but from previous experience, she saw
no reason why having him underfoot
might improve matters. Quesnel was an agent of chaos even at the best of times, and life was busy enough without his
help.
Plus, she suspected the best thing for him at the moment was some time with his maman.

“But I just delivered your child!” protested Madame Lefoux.

“And very grateful I am, too, Genevieve.” Alexia was always one to give credit where it was due. “However, you rampaged through
the streets of London in a massive octopus, and you are going to have to pay for your crimes.”

“Preternaturals!” exclaimed the Frenchwoman, disgusted.

“At least this way you are near your boy. He was terribly upset by the attack,” yelled Lady Maccon as her husband hauled the
struggling inventor away.

Which was when Lord Maccon discovered the reason behind the funny smell. He had a hive of vampires living in his castle.

He came back upstairs fit to be pickled. “Wife!”

Lady Maccon had vanished.

“Floote!”

“She's gone upstairs, sir. To your chambers.”

“Of course she has.”

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.”