“I’ve received several letters over the years extolling your virtues.”
There was a mild despondency to his tone. Again, Rue sensed deeper troubles with his connection to the London Pack.
“Why does my niece think I am here to force Kingair back to London?”
“A bargain was struck, debts need to be paid. She has been waiting for the summons for years now. It has been longer than any of us expected.”
“Oh, indeed?”
“Your mother’s presence, I think. Amazing woman, your mother. She changes everything she touches, doesn’t she?”
“Oh, yes? What kind of everything do you mean exactly?”
“Fate, one might say. And you, little one, are you the same? I have so many questions. Have you mastered your metanatural state? I have greatly missed the opportunity to learn the scientific details as you grow. How does the shift feel for you? What is it like to be a vampire one moment and werewolf the next? If you touch both simultaneously can you be both at once?” Academic curiosity must be how he had earned the moniker professor. He was also obviously trying to divert her attention.
“Please, professor, why is Lady Kingair needed in London?”
“Ah, no. It’s me they need.”
Rue rocked back slightly. “What?”
The reserved man shook his head in refusal and apology. “If your parents did not tell you, it’s not my place.”
A horrible thought occurred to Rue. “Are you, by chance, the negotiator? Is that why you need to speak to me alone? Are you representing Miss Sekhmet and her interests?” She hoped it wasn’t the case, for that would mean the werewolves were acting against her father the vampire. Two supernatural interests at odds was never a good thing. Whole empires had crumbled because of it.
Professor Lyall arched an eyebrow. “Sekhmet? The Egyptian goddess?”
Rue was relieved by his confusion. Right then, so far, purple dresses notwithstanding, they had yet to meet Miss Sekhmet’s contact for the other side of the tea situation. “Never mind,” said Rue.
Professor Lyall was calm in the face of mystery. He said only, “Little one, the purpose of this conversation is merely to say that I am here if you need to call upon a werewolf.” He gestured, without rancour, to his bare forearm. “In any capacity you require, metanatural. Any capacity at all. You understand?”
Rue inhaled in shock. It was the first time a werewolf had ever offered to share his form without question or restriction. Usually, she had to steal supernatural shape from a reluctant donor and apologise for it later. She found his offer touching.
“Thank you very much, Uncle Lyall. I am honoured, but I hope that won’t be necessary.”
The Beta smiled. “As do I, Miss Rue, as do I.” With another small bow he glided off, leaving Rue, Primrose, and Quesnel slightly dumbfounded.
They watched his slight form disappear through the trees, dodging monkey projectiles with supernatural swiftness.
“Did he just offer what I think he offered?” asked Primrose.
Rue nodded, eyes wide.
“What an odd little man,” said Prim. “Nice, but odd.”
“He seems very capable,” replied Rue. “I like him.”
Quesnel, being French, picked up on emotions. “He seemed rather sad.” It was an oddly serious thing for him to say and he shrugged it off with, “Beautifully tied cravat for a werewolf.”
They followed said werewolf’s retreating form, conscious that they had been neglecting their collective social duties and had left Percy, of all people, to take on the lion’s share of the obligation.
They found the redhead holding his own in a spectacular manner. Surrounded by eligible young ladies, and a few who were not at all eligible, Percy was waxing loquacious on the breeding habits of chilli peppers. He was explaining, with the comestibles on offer as his sample specimens, why ingesting spicy food caused overheating of the body, heart palpitations, and occasional irregularities in the magnetic energies of the human brain – particularly in impressionable young ladies.
Said impressionable young ladies were duly impressed by this lecture.
The hostess was looking acutely embarrassed at the very idea that she had included truly spicy native cuisine in her offerings.
Percy caught sight of them coming up. “Here, let me demonstrate – try this.” He held out a small bit of flatbread, dipped into a reddish curry.
Rue, who was always game for a new experience, took it and ate it with alacrity.
All the impressionable young ladies, who had no doubt eaten the same on more than one occasion before Percy had come into their midst and begun soliloquising upon its dangers, gasped. They watched her with round eyes, anticipating tragic gastronomic reactions.
Rue liked the flavour well enough but, in truth, it was spicy. “Goodness,” she said, politely, to Mrs Godwit, “that’s quite lovely. It is a bit hot. Might I have a spot of that milk and soda water to wash it down, please?”
Mrs Godwit, grateful for Rue’s complacent response, gestured at one of the staff to pour.
Primrose followed Rue’s lead, trying a bit of the curry herself. She coughed a little, but carried it off beautifully, “Delicious.”
Neither young lady fainted, came over with some exotic rash, or appeared to experience any magnetic misalignment.
Percy harrumphed. “It must not be all that spicy.” He broke a bit off the bread and, pinky up in the air, dipped the tip tentatively into the curry sauce. Then he tried a tiny nibble.
Pure chaos ensued.
“Argh – water – I’m dying!” yelled Percy.
The impressionable young ladies closed in, offering him drinks, cooling cloths, and scented handkerchiefs.
Percy screwed his eyes shut and grabbed his throat, wheezing and coughing.
“Give the man some air,” suggested Quesnel, barely disguising a guffaw. “Can’t you see he’s suffering?”
Percy cracked one watering eye to glare at him. “It burns!”
Rue, sensing the mood, shouldered into the solicitous group and grabbed Percy, just as a caring older sister might. “Come along, Percy dear, I think it’s time we got you home.”
The impressionable young ladies all twittered objections and sighed in distress. As indeed did Primrose, who, even with the Kingair Pack departed, would have been happy to redirect her flirting back at the hapless Lieutenant Broadwattle for the rest of the evening.
Rue, on the other hand, wanted to read her coded message. Or at least try to. And there seemed no indication that Miss Sekhmet’s contact was going to approach either her or Primrose. So she assisted the sputtering Percy in making their farewells.
They walked back to the ship, Percy hacking dramatically the entire way.
“Prim, did anyone try to negotiate anything with you? As if you were me? Anything to do with tea perhaps?” Rue asked.
Prim said, “One of the officers tried to invite me to tea tomorrow without a chaperone. I turned him down, of course. I have more of a care for your reputation than you do mine.”
“I am sorry about that. But it was necessary.”
“Mmm, that’s always your excuse.”
“I talked with Dama’s contact, finally, but I wonder what happened to Miss Sekhmet’s tea negotiator. He seems never to have shown up, which means we wore purple for nothing.”
“He probably went where all good tea negotiators go. Bottom of a cup.”
“Prim, that is not helpful.”
At that juncture, Percy’s coughing reached such a crescendo that they could no longer carry on a civil conversation. Many of those acquainted with the Tunstell twins believed only Prim had inherited their parents’ flare for drama. But Rue knew full well that Percy could produce more than his fair share of theatricality when called upon.
Chilli pepper consumption appeared to call for it.
Quesnel, for his part, was taking every opportunity to whack Percy on the back, as hard as possible without causing permanent damage.
“Your brother is a ridiculous man,” said Rue to Prim. “It wasn’t that spicy.”
Primrose said, “In his defence, it did burn all the way down. Not unlike cognac.”
Rue was arrested. “How do you know what cognac tastes like?”
Prim replied, as though it were nothing of significance, “Queen Mums likes a snifter of an evening.”
“Baroness Ivy Tunstell, vampire queen, drinks cognac?”
Prim grinned. “Apparently Madame Lefoux introduced it to her back when they were girls.”