Miss Tarabotti's hand became very warm, and she was finding that her knees reacted in a decidedly wobbly way to such close proximity to the earl. Stop it! she instructed them fiercely. What was she supposed to say next? Right: Do not be an idiot. And then: I needed help with a vampire, so I went to a vampire for help. No, that was not right. What would Ivy say? Oh yes. “I was so upset, you see? I encountered a drone in the park yesterday, and Countess Nadasdy has requested my presence, this very night. “
That distracted Lord Maccon from his homicidal thoughts of Lord Akeldama. He refused to analyze why he was so opposed to the concept of Alexia liking the vampire. Lord Akeldama was a perfectly well-behaved rove, if slightly silly, always keeping himself and his drones in flawless order. Sometimes too flawless. Alexia should be entirely allowed to like such a man. His lip curled once more at the very idea. He shook himself and went on to the disturbing, in quite a different manner, idea of Miss Alexia Tarabotti and Countess Nadasdy in the same room together.
He hustled Alexia over to a small couch and sat them both, with a crackle, on top of the airship transit maps scattered across it.
“Start from the beginning,” he instructed.
Miss Tarabotti commenced with Felicity reading aloud the newspaper, went on to the walk with Ivy and the meeting with Miss Dair, and ended with Lord Akeldama's perspective on the situation. “You know,” she added when she felt the earl tense at the vampire's name, “he was the one who suggested I see you.”
“What!”
“I must know as much as possible about this situation if I am to go into a hive alone. Most supernatural battles are over information. If Countess Nadasdy wants something from me, it is far better if I know what it is and whether I am capable of providing it.”
Lord Maccon stood, slightly panicked, and said exactly the wrong thing. “I forbid you to go!” He had no idea what it was about this particular woman that made him lose all sense of verbal decorum. But there it was: the unfortunate words were out.
Miss Tarabotti stood as well, instantaneously angry, her chest heaving in agitation. “You have no right!”
He circled her wrists with an iron grip. “I am BUR's chief sundowner, I'll have you know. Preternaturals fall under my jurisdiction.”
“But we are allowed the same degree of freedom as members of the supernatural set, are we not? Full societal integration, among other things. The countess has asked me to attend her for one evening, nothing more.”
“Alexia!” Lord Maccon groaned his frustration.
Miss Tarabotti realized that the earl's use of her given name indicated a certain degree of irritation on his part.
The werewolf took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It did not work, because he was too close to Alexia. Vampires smelled of stale blood and family lines. His fellow werewolves smelled of fur and wet nights. And humans? Even after all this time of trapping himself away at full moon, the hunt forbidden, humans smelled like food. But Alexia's scent was something else, something... not meat. She smelled warm and spicy sweet, like some old-fashioned Italian pastry his body could no longer process but whose taste he remembered and craved.
He leaned into her.
Miss Tarabotti characteristically swatted him. “Lord Maccon! You forget yourself!”
Which was, Lord Maccon thought, exactly the problem. He let go of her wrists and felt the werewolf return: that strength and heightened senses a partial death had given him all those decades ago. “The hive will not trust you. Miss Tarabotti. You must understand: They believe you to be their natural enemy. Do you keep abreast of the latest scientific discoveries?” He rummaged about on his desk and produced a small weekly news pamphlet. The lead article was titled the counterbalance theorem as applied to horticultural pursuits.
Alexia blinked at it, not comprehending. She turned the paper over: published by Hypocras Press. That did not help either. She knew of the counterbalance theorem, of course. In fact, she found the tenets, in principle, rather appealing.
She said, “Counterbalance is the scientific idea that any given force has an innate opposite. For example, every naturally occurring poison has a naturally occurring antidote—usually located in proximity. Much in the way that the juice of crushed nettle leaves applied to the skin relieves the nettle sting. What has this to do with me?”
“Well, vampires believe that preternaturals are their counterbalance. That it is your elemental purpose to neutralize them.”
Now it was Miss Tarabotti's turn to snort. “Preposterous!”
“Vampires have long memories, my dear. Longer even than us werewolves, for we fight too often among ourselves and die centuries too young. When we supernaturals hid in the night and hunted humankind, it was your preternatural ancestors who hunted us. It was a violent kind of balance. The vampires will always hate you and ghosts always fear you. We werewolves are not so certain. For us, metamorphosis is part curse, one that sees us imprisoned each month for everyone's safety. Some of us see preternaturals as the cure for the full moon's curse. There are stories of werewolves who turned themselves to pets, hunting their own as payment for a preternatural's touch.” He looked disgusted. “All this is better understood since the Age of Reason brought about the concept of a measured soul and the Church of England broke with Rome. But new science, such as this theorem, raises old memories in the vampires. They named preternaturals soul-suckers for good reason. You are the only one registered in this area. And you have just killed a vampire.”
Miss Tarabotti looked grave. “I already accepted Countess Nadasdy's invitation. It would be churlish to refuse now.”
“Why must you always be so difficult?” wondered Lord Maccon in utter exasperation. Alexia grinned. “No soul?” she suggested. “No sense!” corrected the earl.
“Nevertheless”—Miss Tarabotti stood—”someone has to discover what is going on. If the hive knows anything about this dead vampire, I intend to find out what it is. Lord Akeldama said they wanted to know how much I knew because they either understood more or they understood less. It is to my advantage to figure out which is the case. “
“Lord Akeldama again.”
“His advice is sound, and he finds my company restful.”
That surprised the werewolf. “Well, I suppose somebody must. How peculiar of him.” Miss Tarabotti, affronted, gathered up her brass parasol and made to leave.
Lord Maccon slowed her with a question. “Why are you so curious about this matter? Why do you insist on involving yourself?”
“Because someone is dead and it was by my own hand,” she replied, looking gloomy. “Well, by my own parasol,” she amended.
Lord Maccon sighed. He figured someday he might win an argument with this extraordinary woman, but clearly today was not that day.
“Did you bring your own carriage?” he asked, admitting defeat with the question. “I shall hire a hackney, not to worry.”
The Earl of Woolsey reached for his hat and coat in a very decisive manner. “I have the Woolsey coach and four here. At least let me drive you home.”
Miss Tarabotti felt she had rung enough concessions out of Lord Maccon for one morning. “If you insist, my lord,” she acquiesced. “But I must ask you to drop me a little ways from the house. My mama, you see, is wholly unaware of my interest in this matter. “
“Not to mention her shock at seeing you alight from my carriage without a chaperone. We would not want to compromise your reputation in any way, now, would we?” Lord Maccon actually sounded riled by the idea.
Miss Tarabotti thought she understood the reasoning behind his tone. She laughed. “My lord, you could not possibly think I have set my cap for you?”
“And why is that such a laughable idea?”
Alexia's eyes sparkled in merriment. “I am a spinster, long on the shelf, and you are a catch of the first water. The very notion!”