Alexia Tarabotti, Lady Maccon, had engendered many emotions in people over the years mostly, she admitted ruefully to herself, exasperation but never before had she been the cause of such abject revulsion. She looked down, embarrassed. Guess it is not such a good thing, infant, to be a soul stealer. Well, never you mind. Templars don’t seem to like anyone.
As she glanced away, her eye was caught by a flash of red coming along the passageway toward her cell low to the ground. The two young Templars seemed to have noticed whatever it was as well and were looking in fascination at the object trundling toward them.
Then she heard the ticking noise and the tinny sound of multiple tiny metal legs on stone.
“What is going on?” demanded the preceptor, turning away from Alexia.
Alexia seized the opportunity, stood up, and in one smooth movement, yanked the stool out from under herself and struck the back of the preceptor’s head with it.
There was a dreadful crunching noise and Alexia grimaced.
“I do beg your pardon,” she said perfunctorily, leaping over his fallen form. “Needs must and all that.”
The two embroidering guards leapt to their feet, but before they had a chance to lock the door to Alexia’s cell, a large shiny bug, lacquered red with black spots, scuttled directly at them.
Alexia, still brandishing the stool, charged out into the hall.
Queen Victoria had been neither as impressed nor as shocked as she should have been upon hearing the term “soul stealer” spoken in Lord Akeldama’s most salubrious tones. “Oh, is that all?” seemed to be her reaction. Her solution fit the standards of all monarchs everywhere. She made up her mind and then made it someone else’s problem. In this case, however, Professor Lyall was pleased to find she had not made it his problem.
No, instead, the queen had pursed her lips and delivered an unsavory verbal package into the elegant alabaster hands of Lord Akeldama. “A soul stealer you say, Lord Akeldama? That sounds most unpleasant. Not to say inconvenient, considering Lady Maccon will be returned to active service as my muhjah as soon as she can be fetched home. We expect Lord Maccon to have that particular task well under way. It goes without saying, the Crown simply will not tolerate vampires trying to kill its muhjah, however pregnant she may be and whatever she may be pregnant with. You must put a stop to it.”
“I, Your Majesty?” Lord Akeldama was clearly flustered by this direct instruction.
“Of course, we require a new potentate. You are hereby granted the position. You possess the necessary qualifications, for you are a vampire and you are a rove.”
“I beg to differ, Your Majesty. It must be put to the hive vote, any new candidate to the potentate position.”
“You think they will not approve your appointment?”
“I have many enemies, Your Majesty, even among my own kind.”
“Then you will be in good company, potentate: so does Lady Maccon and so did Walsingham. We shall expect you at Thursday’s meeting of the Shadow Council.”
With that, Queen Victoria sailed out of the room, adrift on a sea of self righteousness.
Lord Akeldama raised himself out of his bow, looking flabbergasted.
“Congratulations, my lord,” said Biffy timidly, attempting to stand shakily from the couch and approach his former master.
Professor Lyall hurried over to him. “Not yet, pup. You won’t have your legs back for a while longer.” He spoke the truth for, despite the fact that Biffy obviously wanted to walk on two legs, his brain seemed set on four, and he pitched forward with a surprised little cry.
Lyall caught him up and deposited him back on the couch. “It will take some time for your mind to catch up to your metamorphosis.”
“Ah.” Biffy’s voice caught in his throat. “How silly of me not to realize.”
Lord Akeldama came over as well, watching with hooded eyes as Lyall smoothed the blanket over the young man. “She has placed me in a most insufferable position.”
“Now you know how I feel most of the time,” said Professor Lyall under his breath.
“You are more than equal to the task, my lord.” Biffy’s eyes were shining and full of faith as they looked upon his former master.
Wonderful, thought Lyall, a newly made werewolf in love with a vampire, and more apt to do his bidding than the pack’s. Would even Lord Maccon be able to break such a connection?
“I rather think the queen is getting the better end of the deal,” added Professor Lyall, intimating, but not actually mentioning, Lord Akeldama’s fashionable yet efficient espionage regime.
Poor Lord Akeldama was not having a good night. He had lost his lover and his comparative anonymity in one fell swoop. “The pathetic reality is, my darlings, I am not even convinced the child of a preternatural and a werewolf will be a soul stealer. And if it is, will it be the same kind of soul stealer as it was when the sire was a vampire?”
“Is that why you remain unafraid of this creature?”
“As I said before, Lady Maccon is my friend. Any child of hers will be no more or less hostile to vampires than she is. Although the way we are currently behaving may sour her against us. Aside from that, it is not in my nature to anticipate trouble with violence; I prefer to be in possession of all the necessary facts first. I should like to meet this child once it has emerged and then render my judgment. So much better that way.”
“And your other reason?” The vampire was still hiding something; Lyall’s well honed BUR senses told him so.
“Must you hound him, Professor Lyall?” Biffy looked worriedly from his former master to his new Beta.
“I think it best. It is, after all, in my nature.”
“Touché.” The vampire sat down once more next to Biffy on the settee and placed a passive hand casually on the young man’s leg, as if out of habit.
Lyall stood up and looked down at them both from over his spectacles; he’d had enough of mysteries for one evening. “Well?”
“That soul stealer, the one the Edict Keepers warn us of? The reason for all this twaddle? Her name was Al Zabba and she was a relative of sorts.” Lord Akeldama tipped his head from side to side casually.
Professor Lyall started. Of all the things, he had not expected that. “A relative of yours?”
“You might know her better as Zenobia.”
Professor Lyall knew about as much as any educated man on the Roman Empire, but he had never read that the Queen of the Palmyrene had anything more or less than the requisite amount of soul. Which led to another question.
“This soul stealer condition, how exactly does it manifest?”
“I don’t know.”
“And that makes even you uneasy. Doesn’t it, Lord Akeldama?”
Biffy touched his former master’s hand where it rested on his blanket covered thigh and squeezed as though offering reassurance.
Definitely going to be a problem.
“The daylight folk, back then, the ones who feared her, they called her a skin thief.”
That name meant something to Professor Lyall, where soul stealer had not. It tickled memories at the back of his head. Legends about a creature who could not only steal werewolf powers but become, for the space of one night, a werewolf in his stead. “Are you telling me we will have a flayer on our hands?”
“Exactly! So, you see how difficult it will be to keep everyone from killing Alexia?”
“As to that problem” Professor Lyall gave a sudden grin “I may have a solution. Lord and Lady Maccon will not like it, but I am thinking you, Lord Akeldama and young Biffy, might find it acceptable.”
Lord Akeldama smiled back, showing off his deadly fangs. Professor Lyall thought them just long enough to be threatening without being ostentatious, like the perfect dress sword. They were quite subtle fangs for a man of Lord Akeldama’s reputation.
“Why, Dolly darling, do speak further; you interest me most ardently.”