Rue leaned against her Paw, turned her wet nose into his leg, pressing her furred face against him helplessly.
There was no dramatic final moment; the fighters seemed likely to go on until dawn or exhaustion or death forced a separation. Except that, without apparent reason, they both stopped.
They backed away from each other, panting.
The pack leaned in, eyes gleaming.
So slowly that at first Rue wasn’t sure it was happening, the white wolf stretched out his front legs and sank over them. Then he flipped to his back, stomach up.
The rest of the pack threw back their heads and howled in victory and acceptance.
Rue felt absolutely no urge to join in such vocal nonsense.
The chocolate wolf’s tale swished once and then Rabiffano shifted back to human. For a dandy who wore his suits like armour against the world, Uncle Rabiffano was oddly comfortable wearing nothing but moonlight and the gaze of his pack.
His pack. Not Paw’s.
Uncle Rabiffano addressed Rue’s parents, uncompromising. “It is time for you to leave.”
Lord Maccon twitched. Rue could feel it in the muscles of his leg against her cheek.
Mother hadn’t watched the fight; her gaze stayed on her husband the entire time. Without acknowledging Uncle Rabiffano’s order, she turned her indomitable focus onto Quesnel. “I assume it’s a preservation tank you have, Mr Lefoux?”
Quesnel, slightly green about the gills from the battle, took a few seconds to react. “Modified from my mother’s original design. It’s not intended for werewolf transport, although the theory holds. If Rue thinks we should try, I’m game.”
“Would he be in danger?”
Quesnel shrugged. “If it turns out the tank doesn’t work on werewolves, he’ll likely go mad with aether, break it, and jump overboard.”
“Not an ideal outcome.”
Quesnel arched an eyebrow in agreement and continued. “Otherwise he’ll appear asleep or dead the whole time.”
Lady Maccon paled considerably. “So how would we know it’s working?”
Quesnel donned his delighted academic smile. Percy had the same smile. “Initially, if we stick him in and Rue here returns to normal, then we can presume the tank is at least preserving his tether.”
“And after that?” Mother was a great deal more careful with Paw’s well-being than she was with her own.
“We’d know when we arrive and he wakes up again.” Quesnel would not sugarcoat the reality of science.
“He is standing right here!” Lord Maccon gave an aggrieved rumble. His voice sounded worn and shaken, as if he’d been recently crying.
“Quite right, your risk, Conall. Do we try?”
“I am at your disposal, Wife. I’ve no other duties now but to attend your whims.”
“God help us all,” said Lady Maccon with real feeling. She turned towards The Spotted Custard. It had floated down for a better view of the Alpha challenge.
Rue stayed behind and watched the pack.
One at a time, each werewolf was approaching Uncle Rabiffano. Each knelt low over his forelegs and then flipped to present the soft underside of throat and stomach. There seemed a prescribed order of rank, or was it age? Rue found herself trying to guess whose turn would be next. Somehow she always got it right. She wondered if she had some latent pack instinct after all.
Her parents and Quesnel were up the gangplank now, chatting almost companionably to one another.
“Infant,” called Lady Maccon, “do come along.”
But while her parents were apparently willing to lose everything, Rue was not.
The last wolf, Rafe, rolled to stand after his abeyance.
Rue approached the new Alpha. She slunk, chest low, neck cocked slightly to show her throat. She bowed over her forelegs. Oh please, oh please, oh please, oh… And went to flip, to expose her belly to her pack.
Her former pack as it turned out.
Uncle Rabiffano’s eyes were sad. But then, they were always a little sad. Yet he left – they left – without acknowledging her.
The London Pack ambled away in a group, heading for the outskirts of town. That group was cohesive and calm. They were off to chase some unsuspecting rabbits. Or perhaps they were going to celebrate at a local pub. Since they were all in wolf form, even Rabiffano, Rue had to assume they were after rabbits and not ale, or the London pubs had relaxed their dress requirements beyond imagining.
And Rue was not welcome among them any more.
SIX
In Which Our Heroine Defeats a Picnic Hamper
Rue didn’t want to go with her parents. She didn’t want to see Quesnel preserve her father in a tank in her boiler room. As if Paw were an enormous gherkin. But she followed up the gangplank because they needed her to keep the tether.