Dama had once said, “Although they’re careful not to use the word tether, never you forget, Puggle, that werewolves are tethered to pack, just as vampires are tethered to place. That’s why they get stuck. It’s a tragic weakness.” Dama had looked thoughtful rather than sad. “You may need to exploit it someday. Of course, it’s also a strength, like Hollandaise sauce.”
Rue hadn’t followed. “What’s like Hollandaise sauce, Dama?”
Her vampire father had given one of his tight secret smiles. “The thing that links us up. Wolves to the packs. Queens to the hives. Even me, in my way, to my darling drones and beloved home. Hollandaise sauce – delicious and a vital part of many superior dishes.”
Rue understood that reasoning, being a frequent partaker of sauces. “But?” she’d prodded, knowing a classic Dama analogy was imminent.
“Well, my buttercup, it splits easily, does Hollandaise, if you aren’t careful. Just divides up into its component parts and becomes inedible.”
Rue hadn’t asked how he knew so much about cooking a sauce, being one who didn’t eat anything. But she did take his point.
Paw had gone and split. The question now being, was he edible any more? She tried to catch her mother’s eye, get her assessment, but Lady Maccon was focused on her husband.
Rue prodded. “Well, if you aren’t deranged, what are you in a temper about?”
Lord Maccon looked confused.
“I heard you from across the way, howling like a buffoon.”
Lady Maccon looked suspicious. “What were you doing in Miss Sekhmet’s room?”
“Talking to Miss Sekhmet.”
“Just talking?”
Now what is Mother on about? “Yes. Now stop avoiding the question. Paw?”
“Oh, I was just yelling a bit. Alexia and I were discussing the pack transition. Ill handled, I think. I could have stayed longer, seen young Biffy settled into his new position.”
Lady Maccon snorted. “Don’t be preposterous.”
Rue said simultaneously, “Oh, Paw! Even I know the old Alpha can’t be overseeing the new one.”
Lord Maccon harrumphed. “Well, still, I might have done some good.”
“You see what I put up with?” Lady Maccon appealed to her daughter.
Rue knew an exit cue when she heard one. “Supper will be served at nine tonight. Spotted Custard is assuming daylight hours while everyone is mortal. There’s a great deal to see in Egypt; might as well take it in. Although, we’re under quarantine for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Are we dressing for dinner?” Lady Maccon resumed fussing with her hair.
Rue gave her father an evil look. “Might as well.”
She heard him groan as she closed the door behind her.
Dinner went off without incident. Paw behaved himself. More to the point, so did Mother. Primrose and Tasherit ignored one another. Quesnel was as engaging as ever, and Percy as lacklustre. After pudding, everyone trooped to the forecastle for cigars and drinks – brandy for the gentlemen, sherry for the ladies. The moon was a bulbous yellow orb over a fairy-tale city below.
Tasherit and Paw were obviously unnerved at basking in full moonlight, no curse shining down alongside.
“I forgot how very beautiful she is.” Tasherit was moved to something approaching sentiment.
“We could buy a silver cutlery set now, couldn’t we, wife?” Paw sounded as though Lady Maccon had done nothing their whole marriage but lament the fact that they must use brass at the dinner table.
Rue’s mother made a funny face. Rue was in no doubt that Alexia Maccon had never given cutlery a second thought.
Rue went over and touched first her father and then her werecat friend with a naked hand to the cheek. Nothing happened. The numbness was still on her. There came no indication of gaining supernatural abilities with her touch. No strength. No shift. No nothing.
“Odd,” she pronounced. “Paw, are you normal strength now?”
Lady Maccon laughed. “Infant, look at him. He’s still built like a Clydesdale.”
“Thank you, wife.”
Rue smiled. “You know what I mean. Tasherit, what about you?”
“Normal. Slow healing and all else that goes with mortality.” Tasherit examined her snifter with pursed lips. “Susceptible to alcohol, too, I suppose. What bliss is that.” She drained the last of her brandy. She didn’t hold with sherry. She’d been offered a cigar as well, since brandy was already quite manly, but declined, muttering something about hookahs being preferable.
Tasherit twirled the empty glass. “To tell the truth, younglings” – Rue supposed there was a good chance even Paw was younger than Tasherit – “it makes me feel odd and exposed.” She shivered, although the evening was warm. “I’m for bed. I shall enjoy the novel experience of sleeping at night.”
Rue finished her sherry. “Me too.” She gave Quesnel a slight smile.
He lowered his eyelids in a blatant lure. Pansy eyes glittering from behind fair lashes.
She wanted to nibble the back of his neck as she passed.
Lady Maccon gave Rue a dour look as she made her way to the stairs.