The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (21 page)

“Well, I never,” said Mrs. Loontwill, sitting down heavily on the couch. “I am not sure I want that man for a son-in-law.”

“He is very powerful, my dear, no doubt, and a man of considerable means,” said Squire Loontwill, attempting to establish
a silver lining of some kind.

“But so rude!” persisted his wife. “And all that, after eating three of our best chickens!” She gestured limply at the carcasses
in question, a blatant reminder that, whatever it was that had just occurred, she had clearly emerged the loser. The chickens
were beginning to attract flies. She pulled the bell rope for Floote to come and clear them away, peeved with the butler for
not disposing of them sooner.

“Well, I shall tell you one thing. Alexia is definitely not attending the duchess's rout tonight. Even if I had not already
forbidden her, today's behavior would have sealed it. Full-moon celebration or not, she can stay at home and think long and
hard on her many transgressions!”

Mr. Loontwill patted his wife's hand sympathetically. “Of course, my dear.”

There was no “of course” about it. Miss Tarabotti, knowing her family's propensity for the dramatic, followed suit by keeping
to her room most of the day and refusing to leave it even to see them depart that evening. Appreciating the tragedy of it
all, her two sisters made sympathetic cluck-clucking noises outside her closed door and promised to bring back all the latest
gossip. She would have been more reassured if they had promised not to engage in any gossip of their own. Mrs. Loontwill refused
to speak to her, an occurrence that did not tax Alexia in the slightest. Eventually the house fell silent. She breathed a
prodigious sigh of relief. Sometimes her family could really be very trying.

She stuck her head out of her bedroom door and called, “Floote?”

The butler appeared on cue. “Miss?”

“Hail a cab, please, Floote. I am going out.”

“Are you certain that is wise, miss?”

“To be wise, one might never leave one's room at all,” quoted Miss Tarabotti.

Floote gave her a skeptical look but went downstairs as bidden to flag down a hackney.

Miss Tarabotti summoned her maid and went about changing into one of her more serviceable evening gowns. It was an ivory taffeta
affair with small puffed sleeves, a modest scooped neckline, and trimmed out with raspberry pin-tucked ribbon and pale gold
lace edging. True, it
was
two seasons old and probably should have been made over before now, but it was comfortable and wore well. Alexia thought
of the dress as an old friend, and knowing she looked passably well in it, tended to don it in times of stress. Lord Akeldama
expected grandeur, but Miss Tarabotti simply hadn't the emotional energy for her russet silk fancy, not tonight. She curled
her hair over her still-marked shoulder, coiling part of it up with her two favorite hair pins, one of silver and one of wood.
She braided the rest loosely with ivory ribbon. It contrasted becomingly with her dark tresses.

By the time she was ready, it was dark outside her window. All of London nested safely in those few hours after sunrise, before
the moon climbed into the sky. It was a moment supernatural folk called twinight: just enough time to get werewolves under
lock and key before the moon herself appeared and drove them to become mad unstoppable monsters.

Floote gave Miss Tarabotti one more long warning glance as he handed her up the steps of the cab. He did not approve of her
going out on such a night. He was certain she would get into mischief. Of course, Floote tended to be under the impression
that the young miss was up to no good
whenever
she was out of his sight. But on full moon in particular, no possible benefit could come of it.

Miss Tarabotti frowned, knowing exactly what the butler was thinking, despite his face remaining perfectly impassive. Then
she smiled slightly. She must admit, he was probably correct in his opinion.

“Be careful, miss,” Floote instructed severely but without much hope. He had, after all, been butler to her father before
her, and just look what happened to Alessandro. Prone to willful and problematic lives, the Tarabottis.

“Oh, Floote, do stop mothering. It is most unbecoming in a man of your age and profession. I will only be gone a few hours,
and I will be perfectly safe. Look.” She pointed behind Floote to the side of the house, where two figures appeared out of
the night shadows like bats. They moved with supernatural grace coming to stand several feet from Alexia's hackney, obviously
prepared to follow it.

Floote did not look reassured. He snorted in a most unbutlerlike manner and shut the carriage door firmly.

Being vampires, Miss Tarabotti's BUR guards needed no cab of their own. Of course, they probably would have preferred one.
It was not quite apropos to the supernatural mystique, jogging after a public transport. But they experienced no physical
taxation of any kind from the exertion. So that is precisely what Miss Tarabotti forced them to do, instructing her driver
to walk on, before they had a chance to find a conveyance of their own.

Miss Tarabotti's little cab wended its way slowly through the throngs of moon-party traffic, ending up in front of one of
the most dashing abodes in London, the town residence of Lord Akeldama.

The foppish vampire was waiting for her at the door when she alighted from the cab. “Alexia,
sugarplumiest
of the plums, what a
lovely
way to spend the full moon, in your ambrosial company! Who could possibly wish for
anything
else in life?”

Miss Tarabotti smiled at the excessive gallantry, knowing full well Lord Akeldama would far rather be at the opera, or the
theater, or the duchess's rout, or even down the West End in the blood-whores' den gorging himself until he could not see
straight. Vampires liked to misbehave on full moon.

She paid the cab and made her way up the front steps. “Lord Akeldama, how lovely to see you again so soon. I am delighted
you could accommodate my visit at such short notice. I have much to talk with you about.”

Lord Akeldama looked pleased. Just about the only thing that could keep him home at full moon was information. In fact, he
had been motivated to change his plans at Miss Tarabotti's request in light of the fact that she would only contact him if
she needed to know something. And if she needed to know something, she must perforce know something else significant already.
The vampire rubbed his elegant white hands together in delight. Information: reason for living. Well, that and fashion.

Lord Akeldama was dressed to the pink for the evening. His coat was of exquisite plum-colored velvet paired with a satin waistcoat
of sea-foam green and mauve plaid. His britches were of a perfectly coordinated lavender, and his formal cravat a treble bow
of white lawn secured with a massive amethyst and gold pin. His Hessian boots were polished to a mirror shine, and his top
hat was plum velvet to match the coat. Miss Tarabotti was not certain if this elaborate outfit was because he intended to
go out after their assignation, if he actually considered her that important, or if he just always dressed like a sideshow
performer on full moon. Regardless, she felt shabby and severe by comparison in her outmoded gown and practical shoes. She
was glad they were not going out on the town together. How the ton would laugh at such a mismatched pair!

Lord Akeldama guided her solicitously up the last few steps. He paused on the stoop and looked back over his plum-colored
shoulder at the spot where her cab had been and now was not anymore. “Your shadows will have to stay outside my domain, little
creampuff
. You
know
vampire territory laws, don't you, my
dove
? Not even
your
safety, or
their
jobs at BUR, can countermand such regulations. They are more than law; they are instinct.”

Miss Tarabotti looked at him, wide-eyed. “If you deem it necessary, my lord, of course they must stay off the premises.”

“Well, my
ravishing
one, even if you do not comprehend to what I am referring,
they
certainly do.” His eyes slitted as he glared out into the street.

Miss Tarabotti could not see what drew his attention, but she knew that did not mean they were not there: two vampire guards,
standing supernaturally still in the night, watching them. She looked closely at her friend's face.

For a moment, Miss Tarabotti thought Lord Akeldama's eyes actually glowed, a sheen of warding, a spark of possession. She
wondered if that look was the vampire equivalent of a dog peeing to mark his territory.
Stay out,
said Lord Akeldama's expression.
Mine
. What, then, did werewolves do? Lord Maccon had implied they were not as territorial as vampires, but still. The packs tended
to stick to certain geographic regions; there was no doubt of that. Miss Tarabotti mentally shrugged. They actually were wolves,
at least part of the time, and scent did seem to be particularly important to werewolves. They probably did pee. The thought
of Lord Maccon cocking a leg to mark Woolsey Castle parklands was so absurd that Miss Tarabotti actually had to stop herself
from chortling aloud. She filed the image away as an excellent and insulting question to ask the earl at an utterly inappropriate
future moment.

A shadow across the street, empty darkness contrasting the light cast by flickering gas, materialized into the figure of two
men. They doffed their hats at Lord Akeldama, who merely sniffed. Then they faded out of view once more.

Lord Akeldama grabbed Miss Tarabotti's hand, affectionately tucking it over his arm, and steered her into his fabulous house.

“Come along, my
dearest
girl.” The sheen in his eyes vanished, as if it had never been, and he was back to his usual debonair self.

He shook his head as his butler closed the front door behind them. “Little better than drones, youngsters of the hive. They
cannot even be bothered to think for themselves! First, obey the queen; second, obey BUR, spending their strongest years simply
jumping from one set of orders to the next like trumped-up soldiers. Still, it is an uncomplicated life for the primitive
of intellect.” His tone was rancorous, but Miss Tarabotti thought she could detect an undercurrent of regret. He had a faraway
look in his eyes, as if he were visiting some long-forgotten and far simpler time.

“Is that why you became a rove—too many orders?” Miss Tarabotti asked.

“What was that, my diminutive
gherkin
?” Lord Akeldama shook himself and blinked as though waking up from a long sleep. “Orders? No, the split was due to circumstances
far
more
labyrinthine than that. It all started when gold buckles came back into vogue, progressed to heights of bitterness over spats
versus gaiters, and wended down a slippery slope from there. I believe the defining moment was when certain persons, who shall
remain nameless, objected to my fuchsia silk striped waistcoat. I loved that waistcoat. I put my foot down, right then and
there; I do not mind telling you!” To punctuate his deeply offended feelings, he stamped one silver-and-pearl-decorated high
heel firmly. “
No one
tells me what I can and cannot wear!” He snapped up a lace fan from where it lay on a hall table and fanned himself vigorously
with it for emphasis.

It was clear he was skidding the conversation off track, but Miss Tarabotti did not mind. She responded to his distress with
a noncommittal murmur of sympathy.

“Pardon me, my
fluffy cockatoo,
” he said, pretending to rein in an excessively emotional state. “
Please
ignore my ramblings as those of a madman. It is just so uncomfortable to have two not of
my
bloodline in proximity to my home, you understand? It is a little like having those
disagreeable
shivers constantly running up and down one's spine. Something does not feel right with the
universe
when one's territory is invaded. I
can
bear it, but I do not
like
it. It makes me quite edgy and off kilter.”

Lord Akeldama put the fan down. A personable young man appeared at his elbow with a solicitous cooling cloth draped artistically
on a silver tray. Lord Akeldama dabbed at his brow delicately. “Oh,
thank
you, Biffy.
So
thoughtful.” Biffy winked and skipped off again. He displayed impressive musculature for all his grace. Acrobat? wondered
Alexia. Lord Akeldama watched the young man walk away appreciatively. “I should not have favorites, of course…” He sighed
and turned to Miss Tarabotti. “But, now, on to more important topics! Such as your
scrumptious
self. To what do I owe the singular
pleasure
of your company this evening?”

Miss Tarabotti refrained from any direct answer. Instead, she looked about the interior of his house. She had never been inside
before, and she was overwhelmed. Everything was to the height of style, if one were thinking in terms of style round about
a hundred years ago. Lord Akeldama possessed real, substantial wealth and was not afraid to display it openly. Nothing in
his home was substandard, or faux, or imitation, and all of it was well beyond the pale. The carpets were not Persian but
were instead vibrant flower-ridden images of shepherds seducing shepherdesses under intense blue skies. Were those puffy white
clouds? Yes, they were. The arched ceiling of the entrance hall was actually frescoed like the Sistine Chapel, only Lord Akeldama's
ceiling depicted cheeky-looking cherubs up to nefarious activities. Alexia blushed. All kinds of nefarious activities. She
turned her eyes hurriedly back down. Small Corinthian columns stood proudly all around, supporting marble statues of naked
male gods that Miss Tarabotti had no doubt were authentically ancient Greek in origin.

The vampire led her through to his drawing room. It contained none of the style clutter but instead harkened back to a time
before the French Revolution. The furniture was all white or gilded gold, upholstered in cream and gold striped brocade and
riddled with fringe and tassels. Heavy layers of gold velvet curtains shielded the windows, and the plush rug on the floor
sported yet another proximate shepherding event. Lord Akeldama's had only two nods to modern life. The first was evident in
the room being well lit, with multiple gas lamps no less, elaborate candelabras appearing to be only for decorative purposes.
The second facet of modernity took the form of a gilded pipe with multiple joints, mounted on the mantel. Alexia figured it
must be some modern artwork.
Such an expense!
thought Miss Tarabotti.