The Beta was pleased to be asked. “I would be honored.”
“If you could stop by of an evening to check for intruders and ensure a couple of the more delicate machines remain oiled and maintained? I’ll provide you with a list.”
Tunstell perked up at this point in the conversation. “I’m convinced my wife would be thrilled to oversee the day to day operations of your hat shop, if you would like, Madame Lefoux.”
The Frenchwoman looked utterly horrified at the very idea.
Professor Lyall could just imagine it: Ivy, in charge of a whole roomful of hats. Such a thing could only bring about disaster and mayhem, like putting a cat in charge of a cage full of pigeons a turquoise brocade cat with very unusual ideas about the coloration and arrangement of pigeon feathers.
Lady Maccon rubbed her hands together. “That was one of the reasons I invited you here, Tunstell.”
Madame Lefoux gave Alexia a very appraising look. “I suppose it would be better if some semblance of normal business operations continued while I was away. It would be best if the vampires did not know exactly who your friends are.” She turned to Tunstell. “Do you think your wife equal to the task?”
“She’d be unconditionally thrilled.” The redhead’s broad grin was back in place.
“I was half afraid you would say that.” Madame Lefoux gave a rueful little smile.
Poor Madame Lefoux, thought Professor Lyall. There was a distinct possibility she would end up with no hat shop to return to.
“Vampires? Did you say vampires?” Lady Maccon’s brain suddenly caught up with the second part of the conversation.
Lyall nodded. “We believe that, now that your delicate condition is public information, the vampires are going to try and not to put too fine a point on it kill you.”
Lady Maccon arched her eyebrows. “Through the judicious application of malicious ladybugs, perhaps?”
“Come again?”
“Ladybugs?” Tunstell perked up. “I am rather fond of ladybugs. They are so delightfully hemispherical.”
“Not of these you wouldn’t be.” Lady Maccon detailed her recent ladybug encounter and the fact that she had only just narrowly escaped being pronged with an antennae. “This has not been a very pleasant day so far,” she concluded, “all things considered.”
“Did you manage to capture one for closer examination?” asked Madame Lefoux.
“What do you think is in the hatbox?”
Madame Lefoux’s eyes began to sparkle. “Fantastique!” She dashed off and fussed about her contrivance chamber for a moment, emerging wearing a pair of glassicals and massive leather gloves sewn with chain mail.
Professor Lyall, being the only immortal present, took it upon himself to actually open the hatbox.
The Frenchwoman reached inside and lifted out the large ticking bug, its little legs wiggling in protest. She examined it with interest through the magnification lens. “Very fine craftsmanship! Very fine, indeed. I wonder if there is a maker’s mark.” She flipped the mechanical over.
The creature emitted a very high pitched whirring noise.
“Merde!” said Madame Lefoux, and threw the ladybug hard up into the air.
It exploded with a loud bang, showering them with bits of red lacquer and clockwork parts.
Alexia jumped slightly, but recovered quickly enough. After the type of morning she’d had, what was one little explosion added to the mix? She sneered at the resulting mess.
Professor Lyall sneezed as a cloud of greasy particulates tickled his sensitive werewolf nose. “That is vampires for you. What they cannot suck dry they explode.”
Floote began cleaning up the disarray.
“Pity,” said Madame Lefoux.
Professor Lyall gave the Frenchwoman a suspicious look.
The inventor raised both of her hands defensively. “Not my craftsmanship, I assure you. I do not deal in” a sudden dimpled grin spread over her face “coccinellids.”
“I think you had better explain why you’re blaming the vampires, Professor.” Alexia brought the matter back to hand and gave her husband’s Beta a very hard look.
Professor Lyall did explain, starting with his deductions about the poisoning, the missing journal, and the kidnapping attempt, and moving on to his belief that now that Lady Maccon’s pregnancy was in print, and she was no longer officially under the Woolsey Pack’s protection, such incidents were only likely to increase in both frequency and ferocity.
Enchanting. What do I expect next? Hordes of barbaric brass bumblebees? “Why do they want me dead? I mean, aside from the customary reasons.”
“We think it has something to do with the child.” Madame Lefoux took Alexia’s elbow softly in hand, trying to steer her in the direction of the overturned barrel.
Alexia resisted, instead turning to Professor Lyall, her throat tight with pent up emotion. “So you believe me? You believe that this infant inconvenience is Conall’s?”
He nodded.
“‘Infant inconvenience’?” whispered Tunstell to Floote.
Floote remained impassive.
“Do you know something Conall does not?” Alexia’s heart leapt with the possibility of exoneration.
Sadly, the Beta shook his head.
Hope dissipated. “Funny that you should trust me more than my own husband.” Alexia sat down heavily on the barrel and scrubbed at her eyes with her knuckles.
“He has never acted reasonably where you are concerned.”
Lady Maccon nodded, her mouth tight. “That does not excuse his behavior.” Her face felt stiff, as though it were made of wax. An image that brought back some very uncomfortable memories.
“No, it does not,” Professor Lyall agreed with her.
Alexia wished he wouldn’t be so nice it drove her pathetically close to actual wallowing. “And the only vampire likely to be on my side in this is Lord Akeldama. And he has disappeared.”
“He has?” Madame Lefoux and Professor Lyall said it at the same time.
Alexia nodded. “I was at his house earlier this morning. Abandoned. And that after he asked me to stay with him.”
“Coincidence?” Tunstell looked like he already knew the answer to such an idea.
“That reminds me of an old saying of Mr. Tarabotti’s,” offered Floote, speaking for the first time. “‘Floote,’ he used to say to me, ‘there’s no such thing as fate there’s just werewolves, and there’s no such thing as coincidence there’s just vampires. Everything else is open to interpretation.’ ”
Alexia looked at him hard. “Speaking of my father…”
Floote shook his head, glanced at Lyall, and then said, “Classified information, madam. Apologies.”
“I didn’t know you were an agent, Mr. Floote.” Madame Lefoux was intrigued.
Floote looked away. “Not as such, madam.”
Alexia knew Floote of old; he would not budge on the subject of her father. It was maddening behavior from the otherwise exemplary family retainer. “To the Continent, then.” Alexia had given this some thought while in the tea shop. America was out of the question, and vampires were much more vulnerable in Europe where few countries had followed King Henry’s example and integrated the supernatural set. Perhaps they would not be quite so deadly. Or, at least, have access to fewer ladybugs.
“I do not mean to be rude,” said Professor Lyall, employing the phrase most often used by those who are about to be very rude indeed, “but such travel should commence quickly. It would be no bad thing for you to leave London before the next full moon, Lady Maccon.”
Madame Lefoux consulted a lunar calendar posted on the wall alongside various diagrams. “Three nights from now?”
Professor Lyall nodded. “Preferably sooner. I can use BUR agents to protect you until then, Lady Maccon, but at full moon all of my werewolves are out of commission and my secondary resources are tapped, for I cannot rely on the vampire agents. They will go against BUR orders if under the influence of a queen.”
“You can store your possessions here while we are away,” offered Madame Lefoux.