The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (149 page)

Conall barked at her and swam closer.

“No,
don't touch me
! Then you'll be human, too. Then we'll both shiver to death. Don't be silly.”

Ignoring her, the wolf came up next to her and wormed his way under one arm, clearly intending to help her stay afloat.

He did not change.

Not even slightly.

Alexia had removed her gloves for parasol examination and was gripping him reflexively with one bare hand. Nothing. He remained a werewolf.

“Well, would you look at that!”

Conall's wolf face looked shocked. But then again, the markings about his eyes and muzzle often caused that expression, so there was no way to tell if he was truly registering the peculiarity or still acting on instinct to protect her. Whatever the case, at least he did not give in to his werewolf nature and try to eat her, which for the first time in their long association he might have been able to do.

Alexia's teeth started to chatter. Conall was doing most of the work to keep them afloat. She figured she might as well let him, as he still had all his supernatural strength.

She cogitated upon this amazing occurrence, thinking back over her life and every preternatural touch: those
times when she had been forced to use her naked flesh, and those times when it had functioned even through fabric.

“Wat-t-t-t-ter!” she chattered. “It's all wat-t-t-t-t-ter. Just like ghosts and t-t-tethers.”

Conall appeared to be ignoring her, but Alexia was having a scientific breakthrough and being stranded somewhere near the Strait of Gibraltar in the Atlantic Ocean wasn't going to stop her epiphany. “It all makes per-r-r-fect sense!” She wanted to explain but she was chattering so hard she could no longer understand herself. Also her extremities were going numb. Science would have to wait.

I'm going to freeze to death
, she thought.
I have figured out one of the greatest preternatural mysteries and no one will know the truth. It's so very simple. It was there all along. In the weather. How annoying
.

“Oh! There she blows!” she heard Ivy sing out in the dark night. A wave of displaced water crashed over her, and a second later a wooden box with handles splashed down next to her for her to latch on to. The box was followed by a knitted hammock she could use to pull herself inside.

Conall changed into his human form and pulled himself in next to her.

“Cover yourself with my skirts,” hissed his wife through still-chattering teeth, pushing the ruination of her evening gown at him.

Her husband only looked at her, mouth agape. “What just happened?”

“We have made a g-g-g-reat discovery! We may have to p-p-p-publish,” announced his wife, waving her
goose-pimpled arms about. “Scientif-f-f-ic-c-c break-k-k-through!”

Conall threw his arm around her, hugging her close, and they were lifted to safety. By the time they reached the deck, he was mortal.

E
verything ought to have proceeded smoothly with the investigation—or as smoothly as possible with Lady Kingair's brand of Alpha obnoxious interference. Biffy genuinely believed they were doing well, even after calling in at the eighth ball in an attempt to track down various private dirigible owners. Lucky for him, in the manner of all wealthy enthusiasts, the owners were quite willing to talk about their floating conveyances to the exclusion of all else, even with a slight young man to whom they had only recently been introduced. Biffy learned how the
Great Mitten Slayer
earned its name, where it was berthed, how often it was used, and what security measures were in place that prevented lone assassins from floating it to Fenchurch Street and killing werewolves. He ascertained similar details about
Her Majesty's Truss
, the
Lady Boopsalong
, and several others with names less easily recalled. He also learned that those gentlemen equipped with the means and inclination to
purchase personal flotation devices were not so interested in tying their cravats with finesse. Dirigibles brought out the worst in people.

It was Professor Lyall's plan of inquiry. Biffy was to handle the high-society elements, while the professor looked in at registration offices and sequestered paperwork on pilots' credentials and private dirigible sales from Giffard's. Lady Kingair was of very little use, so they left her to stew at the house, pacing about the library and pouncing upon whoever stumbled in. Floote kept her in line as well as he was able with a constant supply of chewing tobacco, Scotch, and treacle tart. Just like Lady Maccon, she seemed to have an unholy passion for the dratted stuff. Biffy had never liked treacle tart, even as a human; he simply couldn't respect any kind of food that left a residue.

He came home from the eighth party, and yet another failed lead, to find Floote waiting for him in the hallway looking rather more concerned than he had previously thought Floote capable of looking, even after an entire evening spent with sticky, treacle-eating werewolf she-Alphas. The hallway smelled of roses.

“Is something wrong, Floote?”

“It's Miss Felicity, sir.”

“Lady Maccon's sister? What could she possibly want with me?”

“Not you, sir. She called here to see Lady Kingair. They've been sequestered in the back parlor for over an hour.”

“Good gracious me! They know each other from when the ladies visited Scotland, but I did not think they were on terms of any intimacy.”

“No, sir, I don't believe they are.”

“You think Miss Loontwill is
up to something
?”

Floote inclined his head. As much as to say,
Isn't she always?

Biffy took off his hat and gloves, placing them both on the hall table and checking the state of his rebellious hair in the looking glass above it. Tonight it was frizzy. He sighed. “But what could Miss Loontwill possibly want with Lady Kingair?”

“Is that Professor Lyall?” came a roar from the back parlor. The door crashed open, revealing Lady Kingair in a towering fury.

Biffy, noting the rage, inclined his head, tugging down on his cravat to expose his neck.

This submissive stance only seemed to aggravate her further. “Oh, it's
you
. Where is Lyall, the little weasel? I'll see him flayed alive. You see if I don't.”

Biffy glanced up through his lashes, trying to keep as unthreatening a demeanor as possible.

Felicity followed Lady Kingair out into the hall. She was wearing a dress of pale blue satin with royal blue velvet trim and a smug expression. Biffy had no idea why, but that expression terrified him more than Lady Kingair's rage. He wasn't particularly taken with the dress, either. Blue on blue always looked damp.

Lady Kingair came close enough for his hackles to rise, even in human form. “Did you ken, pup?”

“Know what, my lady?” Biffy kept his voice mellow.

“Did you ken it was him? Did you ken what he did?”

“I'm sorry, my lady, but I have no idea to what you are referring.”

“Did you ken what he did to
my pack
? Stole Gramps
away from us! Lyall, that jackass. Stole him! Organized everything. Played us all like we were bally puppets. Got my pack to attempt treason and Gramps to feel betrayed so he would up and run to Woolsey. Do you ken what that did to my life? A
child
left to clean up dross? Have you any inkling what it was like? Did he give us a single thought? Destroy one pack to save another, will he? Bollocks to that! I'll skin him alive!”

Biffy could only shake his head, trying to understand, trying to put everything together. “This is all before my time, my lady.”

She lashed out at him, backhanding him hard across the face, all werewolf strength and Alpha rage at anyone who would threaten her pack, past or present, real or imagined. The force of the blow thrust Biffy back against the wall and down to one knee, blood spattering the perfect points of his white starched collar.

Felicity gave a little squeak of alarm.

The pain was intense but fleeting. Biffy could feel the cut on his lip healing even as he regained his feet. It had taken him a long while to become accustomed to the sensation of flesh knitting back together again, like skin darning. He pulled out his handkerchief, lilac scented, and dabbed the spatter off of his cheek. He could feel the hunger starting, the need to consume bloody flesh to compensate for the blood he had lost. Felicity, standing so still behind the vibrating Lady Kingair, smelled delicious, even through the lilac of his handkerchief and the rose of her perfume—werewolf urges were so embarrassing.

“Now, Lady Kingair, there's no call for that kind of behavior. We are all civilized here, if you would just—”

But the Alpha was already away, ripping the dress
from her own body and changing to wolf form there in the hallway. She went charging out into the night. Floote had enough presence of mind to open the front door wide or she might have crashed through it.

Biffy was frightened for Lyall and momentarily at a loss given the suddenness and violence of the preceding few minutes. He knew he should warn the Beta somehow, but first he had to ascertain the particulars. He turned to face Felicity.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Floote subtly replacing a tiny pearl-handled gun into his inner coat pocket with his free hand. The butler must have armed himself when Lady Kingair turned violent. Biffy wasn't certain how he felt about this. Should butlers be hiding small firearms about their personage? Didn't seem very domestic.

Felicity tried to make her way to the now-open door.

Biffy moved supernaturally fast. He would never be as quick as Lord Akeldama, but he was certainly faster than Felicity Loontwill. He signaled Floote with a sharp gesture, and the butler, understanding perfectly, closed the door firmly in the young lady's face. In the same instant, Biffy took Felicity by one arm.

His hands—slender and fine and once so well suited to his preferred mortal pastime, playing the piano—were now more than equipped with the strength to waylay one frivolous female.

“I didn't know you knew Lady Kingair.”

“I didn't until I met her.”

Biffy glared.

Felicity started to prattle. “Why, Mr. Rabiffano, I've hardly seen you out in society at all since I returned from
abroad. I'm finding private balls about town so very undiscriminating these days. They'll let practically
anyone
attend. Then again, you were at the Blingchesters last night, weren't you? Talking to Lord Hoffingstrobe about his new dirigible?”

Biffy decided, under the circumstances, it was not too rude to interrupt her. “Miss Loontwill, stop gargling, please. I think you had better tell me what,
exactly
, you just told Lady Kingair.”

After being warmed by multiple hot water bottles and then cleaned of brine in the plushest of the SS
Custard
's bathhouses, Lady Maccon was once more able to carry on a conversation without chattering.

“Alexia,” Ivy reprimanded most severely once she was back in her friend's presence, “you had my heart in my chest! You really did.”

Alexia disposed of Ivy's panic and solicitude by sending her off in search of comforting and obscure foodstuffs and took to her bed merely because it seemed the safest way to keep the gossipmongers at bay. Ivy had proved resourceful under such extreme circumstances as her favorite friend and patroness falling overboard. After calling for help, she had extracted the two parts of the new parasol, coiling the grapple about the tip like yarn about a spindle. She even spent time scuttling and hopping about, managing to stomp on the instruction sheet before it flew overboard.

“You see,” said Alexia to her husband as Ivy dashed off to see about custard éclairs, “I told you she had hidden depths.”

“Do you think it's only saltwater immersion that has
this kind of effect?” Lord Maccon was far more interested in their recent revelation. Ivy's peculiarities of character were nothing on his wife's peculiarities of ability.

Alexia was most decided on this point. “No. I believe it is any water. Even moisture in the air narrows the scope. Did you never wonder why the Kingair mummy's effect was so wide in London and so small when we reached Scotland? It was raining in Scotland. Also, there must be some kind of proximity and air contact as well, for I was only affected by the preternatural mummy when I was in the same room with it, unlike you, who could not change into a werewolf within a larger-ranging area.”

“We have always known preternaturals and supernaturals functioned differently. Why should we not react differently to an alien agent in our midst? Werewolves are affected by the sun and moon; preternaturals are not.”

“And it's clear the water was not enforcing your form?”

“Absolutely. I can change in water. Have done so many times.”

“So it definitely limits preternatural touch.”

“We know your abilities are related to ambient aether. We should not be so very surprised.”

Alexia looked at her husband. “I wonder how wet I have to be.”

“Well, my darling, we will have to perform a series of scientific tests… by bathing together.” Lord Maccon waggled his eyebrows at her and leered.

“Could soap be a factor?” Alexia was willing to play his game.

“And how about underwater kisses?”

“Now you're getting silly. Do you think that's why our Prudence hates bath night so much?”

Conall sat up and stopped flirting. “By George, that
is
an idea! Perhaps she feels a limiting of her abilities, or perhaps she has a way of sensing others out of the aether that she relies upon that is shut off by water.”

“You mean she feels blinded? Goodness, bathing would be quite a torture, then. She does always seem to notice when someone new is in the room before anyone else.”

“That could simply be excellent powers of observation.”

“True. Oh, dear, I wish she would acquire complete sentences. It would be so much more efficient to ask her these questions and get a sensible answer.”

“Our curiosity will have to wait a few years.”

Alexia worried her lower lip. “It's all to do with the aether in the end.”

“Very poetical, my dear.”

“Was it? I didn't know I had it in me.”

“Well, do be careful, my love. Poetry can cause irreparable harm when misapplied.”

“Especially with reference to our daughter.”

Very little made Biffy lose his poise or posture, but after Felicity's story, he was practically slouching. “Let me see if I have this quite clear: Professor Lyall was responsible for Kingair losing Lord Maccon as Alpha?”

Felicity nodded.

“But how could
you
possibly know a thing like that?”

Felicity flicked a curl of blond hair over one shoulder. “I overheard Alexia accusing him of it when I was staying here. He didn't deny it and they agreed to keep the whole thing from Lord Maccon. I don't think that's right. Do you? Keeping secrets from one's husband.”

Biffy was sickened, not so much by the information, as he could readily believe such a thing of Professor Lyall, who would do anything for his pack, but by Felicity's duplicity. “You have been sitting on this information for several years, waiting to distribute it until it could do the most damage. Why, Felicity?”

Felicity huffed out a little breath of aggravation. “You know, I told Countess Nadasdy. I told her! And she did
nothing
! She said it was a matter of werewolf internal politics and domestic relations, and none of her concern.”

“So you waited, and when you heard Lady Kingair was in town, you decided to tell her? Why?”

“Because she will react badly and tell Lord Maccon in the worst possible way.”

“You may, quite possibly, be evil,” said Biffy in a resigned tone.