“Do you really find me cursed and disgusting now?” Biffy’s voice was very small.
Driven beyond his instincts, the vampire pulled the newly made werewolf against him one predator consoling another, as unnatural as a snake attempting to comfort a house cat.
Biffy rested his dark head on Lord Akeldama’s shoulder. The vampire twisted his perfect lips together and looked up at the ceiling, blinked, and then looked away. Through the fall of the vampire’s blond hair, Professor Lyall caught a glimpse of his face.
Ah, oh dear, he really did love him. The Beta pressed two fingers against his own eyes as though he might stopper up the tears in theirs. Curses.
Love, of all eccentricities among the supernatural set, was the most embarrassing and the least talked about or expected. But Lord Akeldama’s face, for all its icy beauty, was drawn with genuine loss into a kind of carved marble agony.
Professor Lyall was an immortal; he knew what it was to lose a loved one. He could not leave the room, not with so many important BUR documents scattered about, but he did turn away and put on a show of busily organizing stacks of paperwork, attempting to provide the two men some modicum of privacy.
He heard a rustle Lord Akeldama sitting down upon the couch next to his former drone.
“My dearest boy, of course I do not find you disgusting although, we must really have a serious discussion about this beard of yours. That was only a little turn of phrase, perhaps a bit of an exaggeration. You see, I did so look forward to the possibility of having you by my side as one of us. Joined to the old fang and swill club and all that.”
A sniff from Biffy.
“If anything, this is my fault. I should have kept a better watch. I should not have fallen for his tricks or sent you in against him. I should not have allowed your disappearance to cause me to panic and swarm. I ought to have recognized the signs of a game in play against me and mine. But who would have believed my own kind another vampire, another rove would steal from me? Me! My sweet citron, I did not see the pattern. I did not see how desperate he was. I forgot that sometimes the information I carry in my own head is more valuable than the daily wonders you lovely boys unearth for me.”
At which point, when Professor Lyall really felt things couldn’t possibly get any worse, a bang came on the office door, which then opened without his bidding.
“What ?”
It was Professor Lyall’s turn to look up at the ceiling in an excess of emotion.
“Her most Royal Majesty, Queen Victoria, to see Lord Maccon.”
Queen Victoria marched through the door and spoke to Professor Lyall without breaking stride. “He is not here, is he? Wretched man.”
“Your Majesty!” Professor Lyall hurried from behind his desk and performed his lowest and best bow.
The Queen of England, a deceptively squat and brown personage, swept the room with an autocratic eye as though Lord Maccon, sizable specimen that he was, might manage to hide in a corner somewhere or under the rug. What her eye rested upon was the tableau of a tear stained Biffy, clearly naked under his blanket, caught up in the arms of a peer of the realm.
“What is this? Sentiment! Who is that there? Lord Akeldama? Really, this will not do at all. Compose yourself this instant.”
Lord Akeldama lifted his head from where it rested, cheek pressed against Biffy’s, and narrowed his eyes at the queen. He gently let his former drone go, stood, and bowed, exactly as deeply as he ought and not one jot more.
Biffy, for his part, was at a loss. He could not get up without exposing some part of himself, and he could not perform the appropriate obedience from a supine position. He looked with desperate eyes at the queen.
Professor Lyall came to his rescue. “You will have to forgive, uh,” he floundered, for he had never learned Biffy’s real name, “our young friend here. He has had a bit of a trying night.”
“So we have been given to understand. Is this, then, the drone in question?” The queen raised a quizzing glass and examined Biffy through it. “The dewan has said you were kidnapped, young man, and by our very own potentate. These are grave charges, indeed. Are they true?”
Biffy, mouth slightly open in awe, managed only a mute nod.
The queen’s face expressed both relief and chagrin in equal measure. “Well, at least Lord Maccon hasn’t bungled that.” She turned her sharp eye on Lord Akeldama.
The vampire, with a studied, casual air, fixed the cuffs of his shirtsleeves so they lay perfectly underneath his jacket. He did not meet her gaze.
“Would you say, Lord Akeldama, that death was an appropriate punishment for the theft of another vampire’s drone?” she inquired casually.
“I would say it is a bit extreme, Your Majesty, but in the heat of the moment, I am given to understand, accidents will happen. It was not intentional.”
Professor Lyall couldn’t believe his ears. Was Lord Akeldama defending Lord Maccon?
“Very well. No charges will be brought against the earl.”
Lord Akeldama started. “I did not say… that is, he also metamorphosed Biffy.”
“Yes, yes. Excellent, another werewolf is always welcome.” The queen bestowed a beneficent smile on the still bemused Biffy.
“But he is mine!”
The queen frowned at the vampire’s tone. “We hardly see the need for such fuss, Lord Akeldama. You have plenty more just like him, do you not?”
Lord Akeldama stood for a moment, stunned, just long enough for the queen to continue on with her conversation, entirely ignoring his bemusement.
“We must suppose Lord Maccon has gone in pursuit of his wife?” A nod from Professor Lyall. “Good, good. We are reinstating her as muhjah, of course, in absentia. We were acting under the potentate’s advice when we dismissed her, and now we see he must have been furthering his own hidden agenda. For centuries, Walsingham has advised the Crown unerringly. What could have driven such a man to such lengths?”
All around her, silence descended.
“That, gentlemen, was not a rhetorical question.”
Professor Lyall cleared his throat. “I believe it may have to do with Lady Maccon’s forthcoming child.”
“Yes?”
Professor Lyall turned and looked pointedly at Lord Akeldama.
Following his lead, the Queen of England did the same.
No one would ever accuse Lord Akeldama of fidgeting, but under such direct scrutiny, he did appear slightly flustered.
“Well, Lord Akeldama? You do know, don’t you? Otherwise none of this would have happened.”
“You must understand, Your Majesty, that vampire records go back to Roman times, and there is mention of only one similar child.”
“Go on.”
“And, of course, in this case she was the child of a soul sucker and a vampire not a werewolf.”
Professor Lyall chewed his lip. How could the howlers not have known of this? They were the keepers of history; they were supposed to know about everything.
“Go on!”
“The kindest word we had for that creature was soul stealer.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ladybugs to the Rescue
Alexia fought hard. It took some substantial negotiating to convince the German scientist, but in the end all she needed was the right kind of logic.
“I am bored.”
“This does not trouble me, Female Specimen.”
“This is my heritage we are dealing with, you realize?”
“Ya, so?”
“I believe it may be possible for me to uncover something you and the Templars have missed.”
No response.
“I can read Latin.”
He pressed down on her stomach.
“Can you? My, my, you are well educated.”
“For a female?”
“For a soulless. Templar records hold that the devil spawn are not men of philosophy.”
“You see, I am different. I might spot something.”
The little German pulled out an ear tube from his case and listened to her belly attentively.
“I am telling you, I have excellent research skills.”
“Will it keep you quiet?”
Alexia nodded enthusiastically.