Miss Tarabotti sipped her tea and noted that the silver studs on the leather armchair were also very small octopuses. Really, why the obsession with invertebrates?
Mr. MacDougall hurried about worriedly while Mr. Siemons spoke, fetching this and that to make Alexia more comfortable. Would she like a cushion? Some sugar? Another spot of tea? Was she warm enough? Had the restraints harmed her wrists in any way?
Finally Mr. Siemons rounded on the young man and glared him into silent stillness.
“We should like very much to study you,” he explained to Alexia. “And we should like to do so with your cooperation. It would be much easier and more civilized for all concerned if you were a willing participant in the proceedings.” He sat back, a strange look of eagerness on his jowly face.
Alexia was confused. “You must understand,” she said at length, “that I have several questions. Although, as you intend my participation whether willing or not, you can naturally refrain from answering them.”
The man laughed. “I am a scientist. Miss Tarabotti. I appreciate a curious mind.”
Miss Tarabotti raised her eyebrows. “Why do you wish to study me? What information do you hope to acquire? And what would these studies entail, exactly?”
He smiled. “Good questions, all of them, but none very enlightened in essence. Obviously, we wish to study you because you are a preternatural. And while both you and BUR might know much of what that means, we know very little and are quite eager to comprehend the whole. We hope, most importantly, to understand the sum components of your ability to cancel out the supernatural. To distill that ability and harness it, what a weapon you might make!” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Also, it would be a true joy simply to watch you in action.”
“And the studies themselves?” Miss Tarabotti was beginning to feel most apprehensive, though she prided herself on the fact that it was not visible in her general demeanor.
“I understand you have heard some of Mr. MacDougall's theories?”
Miss Tarabotti thought back to that morning drive. It seemed to have occurred an age ago, to a different person, in a different time. However, she did remember much of the conversation, for it had been most diverting. “I recall some,” she replied cautiously, “to the best of my recollection and limited feminine capacities, of course.” Alexia hated to do it, but it was always advantageous to undermine one's enemy's confidence in one's intelligence.
Mr. MacDougall gave her a shocked glance.
As subtly as possible, Alexia winked at him.
He looked as though he might faint but sat back in his chair, clearly of a mind to let her deal with the situation in whatever way she saw fit.
Miss Tarabotti had the transitory idea that he might be suitable husband material after all. And then realized that a lifelong alliance with a man of such weak character would certainly turn her into a veritable tyrant.
She said, pretending timidity and lack of understanding, “He believes that the supernatural may either be blood-borne, a type of disease, or present as a special organ that those who can become supernatural possess and the rest of us do not.”
Siemons smiled in a superior manner at this explanation. Alexia was seized with a quite unladylike desire to slap the smug expression right off his fat face. With those jowls, her hand would probably make a very satisfying smack. She took a hurried gulp of tea instead.
“That is near enough to the truth,” he said. “We at the Hypocras Club find his theories intriguing but instead favor the idea that metamorphosis occurs as a result of energy transmission: a type of electricity. Although, a small minority holds out for aetheromagnetic fields. Have you heard of electricity, Miss Tarabotti?”
Of course I have, you nincompoop, was what Alexia wanted to say. Instead she said, “I believe I have read something on the subject. Why do you think this might be the answer?”
“Because supernatural beings react to light: werewolves to the moon and vampires to the sun. Light, we are beginning to theorize, is but another form of electricity; thus, we believe the two may be connected.”
Mr. MacDougall leaned forward and joined in the conversation, as it had become one safely within his purview. “Some have suggested that the two theories are not mutually exclusive. After my lecture this evening, there was discussion of possible electricity within blood transfer, or organs whose purpose is to process this light-borne energy. In other words, that the two hypotheses could be combined.”
Miss Tarabotti was interested despite herself. “And it is the capacity to process this electrical energy that you believe correlates to the soul?”
The two scientists nodded.
“How do I fit into this?”
The two men looked at each other.
Finally, Mr. Siemons said, “That is what we hope to find out. Do you somehow dampen this energy? We know that certain materials do not conduct electricity. Are preternaturals the living equivalent of a grounding agent?”
Great, Alexia thought, I have gone from soul-sucker to electrical ground. The epithets just get sweeter and sweeter. “And how, exactly, do you plan to figure this out?”
She did not expect them to say they wanted to cut her open. Though she had a pretty good idea that Mr. Siemons, at least, rather relished such an eventuality.
“Perhaps it would be best if we showed you some of our experimental equipment so you can get an idea of how we conduct research,” suggested Mr. Siemons.
Mr. MacDougall blanched at that. “Are you certain that is such a good plan, sir? She is a lady of gentle breeding, after all. It might be a bit much. “
Mr. Siemons gave Miss Tarabotti an assessing look. “Oh, I think she is of a strong enough constitution. Besides, it might... encourage... her willing participation.”
Mr. MacDougall looked whiter at that. “Oh dear,” he muttered under his breath, his forehead creased in a frown. He shoved his spectacles up his nose nervously.
“Come, come, my dear sir,” said Mr. Siemons jovially. “Nothing is so bad as all that! We have a preternatural to study. Science will rejoice—our mission's conclusion is finally in sight.”
Miss Tarabotti looked at him with narrowed eyes. “And what exactly is your mission, Mr. Siemons?”
“Why, to protect the commonwealth, of course,” he replied.
Miss Tarabotti asked the obvious question. “From whom?”
“From the supernatural threat, what else? We Englishmen have allowed vampires and werewolves to roam openly among us since King Henry's mandate without a clear understanding of what they really are. They are predators. For thousands of years, they fed upon us and attacked us. What they have given us in military knowledge has allowed us to build an empire, true, but at what cost?” He became impassioned, his tone the high-voiced raving of a fanatic. “They permeate our government and our defenses, but they are not motivated to protect the best interest of the fully human species. They are only concerned with advancing their own agenda! We believe that agenda to be world domination at the very least. Our goal is mobilization of research in order to secure the home-land from supernatural attack and covert infiltration. This is an exceedingly complex and delicate mission, requiring the focused effort from our entire association. Our main scientific objective is to provide a framework of understanding that shall eventually lead to a unified national effort toward wide-scale extermination!”
Supernatural genocide, Alexia thought, feeling her face blanch. “Good Lord, you are not papal Templars, are you?” She looked about for religious paraphernalia. Was that the meaning of the octopuses?