“I don’t think Genevieve would like that. She doesn’t like to be watched while she works.”
And Primrose didn’t like to be surprised with ugly accessories. There was a battle in the future. But for now, Prim was lady enough to accept her fate, ugly as it was likely to be.
“Well, thank you for my part, Mother. It will be nice to hit people with something more elegant than a mop.”
“A mop!”
“Too long to explain. Now, would you show us how this one works please?”
Lady Maccon did so. “Twist the handle just so and blades come out the tip. See? Very sharp, one silver, one mahogany. Press this button here and the dart emitter is open and activated. You’ve only four darts left, so use them wisely. Normally you get six. They’re a species of numbing poison – works well on humans, not quite so well on immortals.” She reached down to point to a dial at the base of the ferrule, before the fabric started and hidden by a top ruffle. “You have three mists – lapis lunearis in water, lapis solaris in acid, and a lemon basil tincture. The first is for werewolves and it will also discolour human skin. The second is for vampires, and it’s acid, so it will burn almost anything else. The last causes a nasty reaction in supernatural creatures but does no permanent damage. You’re out of the acid, I’m afraid. There are pockets here and here in the ruffle to stash things.”
“Mother, that’s amazing. I had no idea it was so comprehensive.” Rue took the parasol, handling it with more respect than she had ever thought to show an accessory.
Lady Maccon grinned. “It’s most useful.”
Another awkward silence fell.
Rue felt the finality of it engulf her. She cleared a throat choked with sentiment.
“Perhaps we should make our goodbyes?” Rue thought a clean break might be best. She and her mother had never been very good at this kind of thing.
Lady Maccon raised one hand. “There is something I should like to do first. It is a bit silly. Which, to be fair, is all your mother’s fault, Primrose dear. I had to invent something, you see, rather on the spot. And now it is tradition. Ridiculous, but tradition.”
Primrose was serious. “Most traditions are ridiculous, Lady Maccon. Look at Eton.”
“Point taken. If you ladies would please stand?”
Mystified, Rue and Prim stood, skirts rustling.
“And open your parasols?”
When Mother got this way, it was best to play along. Rue opened her second-hand parasol, surprised at how heavy it was – full of deadly fluids and armaments.
Primrose objected. “Lady Maccon, we are indoors!”
“This will only take a moment.”
Prim popped open her own lavender confection, edged in black chiffon ruffles and black velvet bows to match her dress.
Lady Maccon looked like she would blush if her complexion allowed it. “Please spin your parasols three times and repeat after me: I shield in the name of fashion, I accessorize for one and all, pursuit of truth is my passion, this I vow by the great parasol.”
Wide-eyed with suppressed amusement, Rue and Prim did as requested, reciting the strange pledge in unison.
“Here I was worried about Paw going balmy. Now I think it might be you, Mother.”
“Hush, infant. Now, raise your parasols to the ceiling.”
Rue and Prim raised happily. But when Lady Maccon produced a small knife from her décolletage and unsheathed it to show a sharp silver blade, they exchanged worried looks.
The strain of Paw’s illness was too much for her – Mother really has gone barmy.
“Come here, girls.” Lady Maccon gestured.
They pottered reluctantly over, baffled.
“May the blood of the soulless keep your own soul safe.” Lady Maccon sliced into the pad of her palm. She grabbed Rue’s hand and did the same, pressing the two cuts together.
“What!” said Rue. But then it was over.
Lady Maccon gestured at Prim in her most commanding way.
After a long stare, Primrose reluctantly took off her glove and allowed the same.
“Mother, you’re a loon.” Rue sucked the cut to stop the bleeding.
Lady Maccon sighed. “Let me explain. Sit down, both of you.”
They sat.
“For years now I’ve been running a sort of secret club. It’s for emergency use, communication, and generally keeping an eye on things around the empire. Your mother is a member, Lady Primrose. She goes by the moniker Puff Bonnet.”
Primrose tied a silk handkerchief in a neat bow about her own cut. “Not a very covert name. Anyone could guess.”
“Yes, well, she hasn’t made many contributions since turning vampire. I go by Ruffled Parasol. And Biffy by Wingtip Spectator.”