Lord Akeldama stood to greet her. He accorded her a distinction she did not deserve, gesturing her to the empty seat on his left, across from Sophronia.
“My dear Miss Pelouse, welcome. Does everyone here know Miss Pelouse? Lovely. Now that we have the countess’s representative, perhaps we can begin?”
A parade of drones, not footmen—Lord Akeldama wants only those he can trust working tonight—began serving. There were beautiful dishes for the human guests, exquisitely arranged platters of raw meat for the werewolves, and champagne mixed with blood for Lord Akeldama.
Sophronia had predicted that Lord Akeldama’s menu would be as frivolous as his dress. But in the matter of food, he either had simple tastes, or he farmed it out to someone who still ingested the stuff. The humans started with a pea soup made with ham broth, accompanied by bread sprinkled with powdered mint. The fish course was a John Dory in sage sauce, followed by a joint of beef with carrots, veal cutlets in curry gravy, and pheasant with truffles. They finished with a white pudding and stewed apples. It was delicious and perfectly prepared, but Sophronia could tell that others found it disappointingly familial.
Since Lord Akeldama was busy ensuring that the conversation flowed, Sophronia turned to her other dining partner. He had a laugh that sounded like he was chewing air and was already in deep conversation with his neighbor, unwilling to entertain the whims of a schoolgirl. She summarily dismissed him with equal disregard and greater contempt. Imagine discounting someone on the grounds of age and gender! Then again, she was trained to take advantage of exactly that kind of ignorance. However, it meant she was forced to look across the way, through the fern fronds, to Monique.
“Miss Pelouse, how are you this evening? I haven’t seen you in ages.” Sophronia dove in with a will.
“I suspect that is healthier for both of us, Miss Temminnick.” Monique was as barbed as ever.
“Oh, my, you didn’t suffer any adverse effect from your impromptu swim last winter, I hope?” Sophronia recalled Monique’s offended squawking fondly.
“Certainly not. I have an exceptional constitution.”
Sophronia nibbled her fish, pausing to phrase her next dart. “How are you finding the hive these days?”
“I consider myself quite pleasantly situated, thank you,” replied Monique primly. “I understand you are in London for the holidays?”
“To visit my dear sister. Recently married.” Sophronia gestured with her chin at Petunia, who was giggling desperately at the dewan.
Monique gave Petunia a disgusted look. “I suppose we all have our crosses to bear.”
Sophronia said, with no little feeling, “Too true. So the hive is still comfortable despite your misfortunes?” She tried to play on a sympathetic angle.
Monique sidestepped her. “We acquired a rather nice dirigible recently.”
“How excellent for the upcoming summer months. But surely, vampires cannot partake?”
“Sadly, no. But the rest of us are encouraged to learn the basics of floating. Drones must go where vampires cannot. It’s our role.”
“How nice for you. Is it a large craft?” Sophronia wasn’t certain why Monique would intentionally pass on information about hive assets. Is it a veiled threat of some kind?
“Not very, but I understand it possesses not inconsiderable speed.”
Now, that really was too much information. What is Monique up to? “Worried about flywaymen, are we?”
“No, not flywaymen.”
Conversational flow being as it was, Monique’s last phrase shot out into a lull and reverberated down the table.
Everyone looked at her.
Petunia broke the awkward silence. “Oh, those horrible miscreants.”
Monique tossed her head. “Well, it’s not them I’m worried about. Everyone knows who skulks behind the flywaymen these days. Is that not what we’ve been brought here to discuss? Or am I assuming too much, my lord?”
Sophronia looked through the fronds at her fellow diners for expressions of surprise. Petunia, of course, and perhaps two or three others.
Lord Akeldama leaned back, sipping his fizzy blood. “Has the countess told you something significant, Miss Pelouse?”
Monique stabbed at her fish. “Are you going to let them get away with it?” She looked down the table at the dewan. “Are you?” Then over at the werewolf Beta, gesturing at him with a fork loaded with John Dory. “Are you?”
“Come now, Miss Pelouse, no need to point fish. Let us allow the conversation to flow naturally, shall we?” As if by the vampire’s command, the others turned back to their dining companions.
Sophronia tilted her head at her erstwhile nemesis. Monique looked annoyed.