Timeless (7 page)

Major Channing, who hadn’t seen the place since the pack left it, arched one blond eyebrow. “Would hardly have thought it the same house.”

Lady Maccon made no answer. A vampire was oiling his way down the staircase toward them.

“Dr. Caedes, how do you do?”

“Lady Maccon.” Dr. Caedes was a thin, reedy man, with a hairline paused in the act of withdrawal and an interest in engineering, not medicinal matters, despite his title.

“You know Major Channing, of course?”

“We may have met.” The doctor inclined his head. He did not smile nor show fang.

Ah
, thought Alexia,
we are to be treated with respect. How droll
. “My husband would have attended your summons, but he was called away on urgent business.”

“Oh?”

“A family matter.”

“I do hope it is nothing serious?”

Alexia tilted her head, playing the game of reveal with aplomb. She had been some time now a member of the Shadow Council and was a quick study in the fine art of conversing upon matters of great importance yet saying nothing significant. “More bedraggled, I suspect. Shall we proceed?”

Dr. Caedes backed down, having to follow the niceties of conversation that he and his kind had insinuated into society. “Of course, my lady. If you’d care to follow me? The countess is awaiting you in the Blue Room.”

The Blue Room, as it turned out, was the room formerly occupied by the Woolsey Pack’s extensive library. Alexia tried to hide her distress at the destruction of her favorite retreat. The vampires had stripped it of its mahogany shelving and leather seats and had papered it in cream and sky-blue stripes. The furniture was all cream in color with a decidedly Oriental influence and, unless Alexia was very much mistaken, Thomas Chippendale originals.

Countess Nadasdy sat in an arranged manner, draped to one side over the corner of a window seat. She wore an extremely fashionable and extraordinarily elaborate moss-green receiving dress trimmed with pale blue, the skirt tied back so narrowly that Lady Maccon wondered at the
queen’s ability to walk about, and the sleeves were so tight Alexia very much doubted the vampire could lift her arms at all. Biffy had tried to foist such absurdities upon Alexia, but only once, at which juncture she insisted that mobility was not to be sacrificed for taste, especially not with a child like Prudence dashing about. Biffy hunted down daringly cut fluid styles influenced by the Far East for his mistress to wear instead and said no more about it.

The countess had the ample figure of a milkmaid who had partaken too freely of the creamy results of her labors, which did not suit the style of the dress at all. Alexia would never have said a word, but she shuddered to think of Lord Akeldama’s opinion on such a figure in such attire. She planned, of course, to describe it in detail to her dear friend as soon as possible.

“Ah, Lady Maccon, do come in.”

“Countess Nadasdy, how do you do? You are adjusting to rural life, I see.”

“For a girl with as unsullied a nature as I, the countryside is unobjectionable.”

Lady Maccon paused, verbally stymied by the countess using the words
unsullied
and
girl
to describe herself.

The vampire queen glanced away from Lady Maccon’s ill-disguised discomposure. “Thank you, Dr. Caedes. You may leave us.”

“But, My Queen!”

“This is a matter for Lady Maccon and I, alone.”

Alexia said quickly, “Countess, may I present Major Channing?”

“You may. Major Channing and I are already acquainted. I’m sure he won’t mind allowing us a few moments of privacy?”

Major Channing looked like he would mind, but realizing that Dr. Caedes was about to leave his queen with a preternatural decided it was all in good faith.

“I shall be just outside the door, my lady, should you need anything.”

Alexia nodded. “Thank you, Channing. I’m convinced all will be well.”

So Alexia found herself alone in a blue room with a vampire queen.

After Felicity and Madame Lefoux departed, the shop turned into a frenzy of fashionable ladies in pursuit of hats, but Biffy’s staff of assorted shopgirls had it well under control. He did a quick lap to ensure no lady was purchasing anything that did not suit her coloring, complexion, demeanor, station, or creed. He then left his accessories to the tender mercies of Britain’s shopping public and retired down to the contrivance chamber to catch up on necessary paperwork. He was engaged at first, it must be admitted, in beautifying said paperwork by trimming the corners and adding necessary swirls and flowers to the text.

It had all happened rather organically. Because he was there most nights, and the contrivance chamber was the new dungeon for Lord Maccon’s wolves, Biffy had assumed responsibility for a good deal of pack organization. Professor Lyall didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he rather approved, so far as Biffy could tell. He wondered if the professor, after decades of sole stewardship, was relieved to have someone else take on part of the burden.

Since Madame Lefoux had removed all her machines, instruments, and gadgets, the contrivance chamber was a
good deal more cavernous. Biffy thought it could use some nice rose-patterned wallpaper and a brocade cushion or two. But, given that its new purpose was as a full-moon prison, there was no point in wasting wallpaper on werewolves.

The dandy circled the huge room slowly, imagining himself swanking about a massive ballroom in one of Paris’s fancy hotels—except he was checking the security of the pulley system, not waltzing with worldly Parisian ladies in obscenely large headdresses. Everything seemed to be secure. Gustave Trouvé had done an excellent job. The massive cages, iron coated in a silver wash, were strong enough to hold even Lord Maccon, yet they rose to the ceiling via a cranking mechanism that even the weakest claviger could operate. Biffy looked up contemplatively at the bottoms of the cages and wondered if he might not turn them into some kind of chandelier. Or at least ornament them with some ribbons and a tassel or two.

He settled behind his small desk in one corner of the room. There was pack business to attend to: a puzzle over one of the new recruits and a petition from a loner for one of his clavigers to be put up for metamorphosis. Several hours later, he stood, stretched, and packed away his work. He considered the fact that all around town, plays were ending, clubs were filling with smoke and chatter, and the gentlemen follies were at large. Perhaps he might change and catch the last of the evening’s entertainment before sunrise. He had been required, by dint of association, to give over some of his dandified ways after becoming a werewolf, but not all of them. He fingered delicately the unruly curls of his hair. Some young men about town
had recently assumed a certain level of scruff and simulated messiness. Biffy liked to think it was his influence.

The pack town house was dark. Everyone was taking advantage of the lures that London had to offer with little risk of accidental change for the youngsters or chronic boredom for the elders. He was making his way upstairs when he caught a smell, an unusual one not ordinarily associated with his abode. Something spicy and exotic and—he paused, trying to think—
sandy
. He turned, tracking with small short sniffs, following the alien scent toward the back of the house and the servants’ domain.

Biffy heard the murmur of voices, his fine wolf hearing alerting him even through the shut kitchen door. Men’s voices, one of them deep and authoritative, the other higher and more lilting. The first sounded familiar, but it was difficult to tell who it was, as they both were speaking in a foreign tongue Biffy couldn’t quite place.

The conversation ended and the outer door to the kitchen opened and shut, letting in the sound of the back alley and a brief whiff of rubbish. Lightning fast, Biffy nipped into the shadows under the staircase at the far side of the hall, watching for the other party of the conversation.

Floote emerged from the room. The butler did not notice Biffy, merely gliding about his duties.

Biffy stood a long time in the dark, thinking. Then he realized what language it had been. Interesting that Lady Maccon’s pet butler spoke fluent Arabic.

“Well.” Alexia stood before the queen of the Woolsey Hive and narrowed her eyes at the woman. “Here I am, Countess, at your disposal. How can I help?”

“Now, Lady Maccon, is that any way to address your betters?” Countess Nadasdy didn’t move from her stiff pose.

Alexia privately suspected, due to the tightness of the dress, that she couldn’t.

“You have taken me away from an evening with my family, Countess.”

“Yes, on the subject of which, we understood Lord Akeldama would have primary care for the abomination and yet…” The vampire let her words trail off.

Alexia understood perfectly. “Yes, and he does. Prudence lives with him. And please refer to my daughter by her name.”

“But you live next door and visit quite frequently, I understand.”

“It is necessary.”

“A mother’s love or a child’s affliction?” The countess widened her cornflower-blue eyes significantly.

“Someone has to cancel her out.”

The countess grinned suddenly. “Difficult is she, the soul-stealer?”

“Only when she isn’t herself.”

“Fascinating way of putting it.”

“You simply must learn to relax your standards, Countess, or Prudence could run ragged all over London, even getting so far as Barking.” Alexia, nettled that she had been offered neither seat nor tea, allowed some of her annoyance to creep into her voice. “Is this the nature of your summons or did you have something particular you wished to discuss with me?”

The vampire queen reached out to a small side table. Alexia was certain she heard the dress creak. The queen
gestured Alexia to come closer, using a small scroll of parchment she had resting there.

“Someone wishes to meet the abomination.”

“What was that? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch it. Wishes to meet
who
, did you say?” Alexia looked pointedly out a nearby window.

Countess Nadasdy showed fang. “Matakara wishes to meet your child.”

“Mata-who? Well, many people wish to meet
Prudence
. Why should this particular person signify to any—”

The countess interrupted her with a sharp gesture. “No. You misunderstand. Matakara, queen of the Alexandria Hive.”

“Who?”

“Oh, how can you be intimate with so many immortals, yet be so ignorant of our world?” The countess’s beautiful round face became pinched in annoyance. “Queen Matakara is the oldest living vampire, possibly the oldest living creature. Some claim over three thousand years. Of course, no one knows the actual number with any certainty.”

Alexia tried to fathom such a vast age. “Oh.”

“She has shown a particular interest in your progeny. Generally speaking, Queen Matakara hasn’t shown an interest in anything
at all
for five hundred years. It is a great honor. When one is summoned to visit her, one does not delay.”

“Let me get this perfectly clear. She requires
me
to travel, to
Egypt
, with
my
daughter, on
her
whim?” Lady Maccon was, perhaps, less impressed than she ought to be by the interest of such an august body.

“Yes, but she would prefer if the reason for your journey were not publicly known.”

“She wants me to travel to Egypt with my daughter under subterfuge? You have heard of my daughter’s antics, have you not?”

“Yes.”

Alexia huffed out a breath in exasperation. “Not asking very much, is she?”

“Here.” The countess passed her the missive.

The sum of the request, or more properly the order, written in a slightly stilted manner that suggested the writer’s first language was not English, was indeed as had been discussed.

Alexia looked up from it, annoyed. “Why?”

“Because she desires it, of course.” Clearly Queen Matakara had the same kind of superior social power over the countess as the Queen of England did the Duchess of Devonshire.

“No, I mean to ask, why should I inconvenience myself with a trip?”

“Ah, yes, preternaturals, so very practical. I understand Egypt is lovely this time of year, and I believe there is something more that you have overlooked.”

Alexia read the letter again and then flipped it over. There was a postscript on the reverse side. “I believe your husband is missing a werewolf. And you are missing a father. I can help you with both.”

Alexia folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into her reticule, next to Ethel. “I’ll prepare to leave at once.”

“My
dear
Lady Maccon, I surmised that might be the case.” The countess looked sublimely pleased with herself.

Alexia sneered. Nothing was more annoying than a self-satisfied vampire, which, given that seemed to be their natural state, was saying something about vampires.

A great hullabaloo out in the corridor heralded some kind of emergency. There was a good deal of yelling and then a banging at the door to the Blue Room.

“I left orders not to be disturbed!” yelled the queen, moved to irritated vocalization, if not actually moved to, well, move.