Quesnel’s eyes narrowed. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Rue sucked in a breath. Her scalp prickled and her eyes stung. “You’re absolutely right. Neither of us should be taken seriously. And how can we build any kind of relationship on that?”
“Are we still talking about my being your chief engineer?” A smile teased about his lips.
Rue decided that her only means of keeping herself from getting hurt by this man was not to take him at all seriously. She took a deep breath, leaned forward, and kissed him softly, right on those still-smiling lips. In front of half of London.
Quesnel blinked at her.
Ha, thought Rue, mull that one over, you little traitor. “You think you’re so good with people, Quesnel, but you’re better off with the machines. You owe Percy an apology.”
Quesnel looked surprised and then petulant.
“We will figure out what you owe me later.” Rue said that to see if she could get his expression to change.
It did, to one of wariness mixed with anticipation. Good. He didn’t deserve to be in control.
Quesnel wasn’t one to stay confused. Before she could turn and walk back up the gangplank, knowing that her dress looked even better from behind, he snaked out an arm and pulled her in.
This time he kissed her and it was not so sweet, instead quite scalding. Rue gasped a protest into his mouth. She supposed one ought to close one’s eyes, but she kept hers open, yellow staring into violet. A violet Cyclops, this close up. It was a good kiss. She liked everything about it – the warm taste of him, the steady arm, the smell of machine oil and fresh lime. She would have melted against him except for that stupid corset. She could feel the heat of his hand on her waist all the way through the layers.
There was a roaring in her ears, which did confuse her a little. After all, Quesnel had kissed her before. And while it was quite wonderful, for he was a superb kisser, it hadn’t caused auditory hallucinations in the past. Aha, thought Rue. That must be actual roaring. Who’s roaring at us?
Something large and hairy yanked Quesnel away and pushed him back. Quesnel looked dazed by their kiss. Although it could have been the fact that standing between them was Rue’s very angry father. Her birth father, mind you, the werewolf, Lord Maccon.
Rue adored her Paw but he did operate mainly on emotion. Today, he was looking rough. He was an Alpha and old, thus one of the few werewolves who could withstand full sunlight. But under the soft afternoon glow, he did not look healthy. There were lines carved into his face and his salted dark hair was limp. He was scruffy, not uncommon since he slept the day through touching Mother, which meant he was mortal enough to grow a beard. But Lady Maccon usually stayed around so he could shave it off after. Rue’s mother was not fond of beards.
“Good afternoon, Paw.” Rue spoke calmly. “Where have you been?”
Lord Maccon watched her out of glassy yellow eyes, so like her own. Well, except for the glassy bit. He turned his head to glare at Quesnel, teeth bared.
The inventor was trying to look unruffled. But Lord Maccon was very large and, even in sunlight, very strong. Quesnel, while fit, was nowhere near his fighting weight. Rue wouldn’t put it past her chief engineer to be armed with silver, possibly several iterations thereof, but she hoped he wasn’t inclined to permanently damage her father.
It was an odd thought, that Paw might need protection. But he did look most unwell.
“Paw.” Rue put a gentling hand to his arm. It was full daylight so she could touch him without hairy repercussions. For while her mother’s power worked under sunlight, Rue’s did not. As a little girl, she’d always loved it when Paw was awake during the day. He gave the best hugs. “What’s wrong?”
He stayed distracted, growling at Quesnel.
Rue’s beloved Paw was, as her mother often put it, only barely civilised. Yet this was a bit much, even for him. Not that it was odd for an aristocratic father to become agitated at finding his only daughter in a clinch with a commoner on a croquet green. But Lord Maccon was looking, and there was no politer way of putting it, not in control.
“Paw, I wasn’t in danger. Mr Lefoux and I have an understanding.” Well, she corrected the little lie in her head, I understand that he is no longer to be taken seriously and that I should keep my heart out of it. And I also understand that I might as well keep trying to seduce him because a man who kisses that well has got to be good at more than kissing. Rue’s curiosity, it should be pointed out at this juncture, had got her into more scrapes than it ought. She should know better. But there was that kiss.
Lord Maccon didn’t move. Just kept growling. Rue shifted into panic. This was different. He was already over the edge. Whatever cliff it was that tumbled werewolves into animal, he had fallen to the bottom of it.
Rue spoke carefully, trying to pull him back to her with the firmness of her voice. “Paw, are you able to speak?”
He didn’t answer, simply stared at Quesnel. Had it been night, he would most certainly be a wolf. But the sun kept him human. Well, human-looking.
“Don’t run,” Rue advised her chief engineer. “He’ll only chase.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Quesnel sounded as though he, too, might be losing the ability to speak.
“Are you tarnished?”
Quesnel inclined his head.
“Can you pull? Slowly?”
Quesnel moved with liquid grace, reaching with his right hand to scrunch back the cuff on his left arm. This revealed a dart emitter on his wrist. He made a tapping flick to load it, no doubt with silver. Not big enough to do serious damage, but if applied to the right area it could certainly slow a werewolf down.
Rue let out a shaky breath and returned her focus to her father.
“Paw, look at me. Please.”
He didn’t move.
Instinct, this is all instinct. I have to play on that.
She gave Quesnel a wink to let him know she wasn’t serious and then gave a small whimpering sigh. “Oh.” She put a hand to her head in the manner of Aunt Ivy. “I feel faint. I feel dizzy.” She stumbled slightly to one side.
And he was there, big arms scooping her up. So reassuring, usually, Paw carrying her like she was a child again, but his grip was too tight.
Rue tried a light touch to his bristled cheek. Finally, their eyes met. Yellow-to-yellow, grave and worried to glassy and… absent.
Rue could think of only one thing that might help this situation – Lady Maccon. “Where’s Mother, Paw? Where’s your wife?”
Lord Maccon twitched, maybe hearing her, maybe not.
Rue tamped down on the realisation that the London Pack had been drunk and out of control last night, not for some bumbling adorable werewolf reason, but because their Alpha was out of control.
“Alexia, where is she?” Instinct, Rue instructed herself, activate instinct. “I’m fine, Paw. Everything is well. You need to find your wife. She needs you.” You need her.
Alphas who lost their control went mad. They were put down like dogs, for the good of society. Her Paw was, more than ever before, a walking corpse.
Something Rue said went in and stuck.
Lord Maccon blinked and for one second he was back – her big gruff softy of a Paw. “Rue? What are you doing—?”
She took that moment of lucidity and ran with it. “Paw, find Mother. You must find Mother. Now.”
He tilted his head at her. “But?”
“I’m safe.” She did not mention Quesnel. He was standing as still as could be, dart pointed, barely breathing. No need to remind Paw of what he had interrupted; it may have sent him back to that place of the glassy eyes.
“I’m a modern woman, remember? Dama trained me.”
Paw sneered automatically. “That vampire.”
That was good. That was a normal reaction. “But, Paw, I think Mother needs you now. You should go to her.”
He blinked again, like a small sleep-addled child. “Alexia? I should?”
“Yes, at once. Ple
ase?”
“If you think that necessary, little one. Is there trouble?” He set her down; huge hands still gripped her shoulders firmly.
“Yes, there’s trouble.” It was true enough, even if the trouble was him.
“Then I’ll go.” He whirled and ran.
Rue spared a moment to be grateful he was wearing clothing; the state he was in, it could have gone either way. She regretted that even in sunlight he could move faster than most humans. She should set a deckling to track him, but even if she was willing to risk the life of one of her crew, it was too late. He’d vanished.
The horror of it prickled her all over – sharp, painful spikes. Her Paw was going mad. She hadn’t noticed. She’d been too caught up in leaving home, in exploring India, and angry queens, and her pretty ship, and her pathetic romance. And now she’d set him loose through London, where he could kill someone. Or himself.
Rue could only hope he found Mother soon. He wouldn’t harm Lady Maccon. Mother always said, “Your father’s instincts are different with us, infant. It has to do with smell and family. Don’t take advantage, but you should know when he’s wolf he’ll always try to protect you. Don’t take it as an insult. He can’t help it, poor dear.” Mother would handle everything. She would make it all better. That was the awe and the grace of Lady Maccon.
Except that this didn’t seem like a thing that could get better.
Rue had been raised with pack. Rue was pack. She knew what it was to be a werewolf. A little. She also did not understand in the slightest. She never hunted on instinct. Even at full moon she could stay in control. She never craved flesh. She simply liked to dash about hairy and on four legs once in a while. But she had thought she understood werewolves and their moods and forms. Yet she’d never realised a werewolf could be in human shape, yet still a wolf.
She let out a shaky breath and tried to find her equilibrium but her mind would not stop. Paw will have to leave off Alpha. Will he be challenged? Will he be killed? Could I get him out of London first? Could I take him somewhere safe? Where could we go where Alpha’s curse would not get him? It takes all Alphas in the end.
Much to her own surprise and embarrassment, fat tears burned down her face.
Quesnel turned from where he’d tracked her father with his dart emitter and saw her crumble. Which was humiliating, because she had just decided not to trust him, and she really couldn’t tolerate that loving sympathetic look in his eyes.
He took a step towards her, arms open to enfold her in a soothing embrace.
She couldn’t suffer that either. She put both her hands up to ward him off.
Then there came a swirl of fabric and the scent of apple blossoms.
Primrose was there.
Primrose was making calm sweet noises, wrapping Rue in soft gentle arms and guiding her back aboard the Custard and away from all the staring. Away from Quesnel’s hurt sympathy. Away from Paw’s glassy wolf eyes. Up the gangplank and through a silent mass of sombre decklings and a strangely agonised-looking Percy, and down the stairs, and into the privacy of the captain’s quarters.
There Rue could heave out the sobs of certain loss that come with change. For Paw was meant to be immortal, and for the first time Rue knew that he was not.
FOUR
In Which the Maccon Family Is Quite Imprudent
Primrose stayed, rubbing Rue’s back and making sympathetic noises. Primrose was good like that. She didn’t ask what was wrong.
Finally Rue said, “I” – sniff – “hate” – sniff – “stays.”
“Let’s get you out of that corset, then, shall we?” Which was a mark of how good a friend Primrose was, for she was normally the most proper young thing and tried not to know that Rue rarely wore underpinnings. Now she pretended delight at helping her strip and climb into a comfortable tea-gown.
Rue loved her for the pretence.
“Prim, something’s wrong with Paw.” Rue sat on the edge of the counterpane and looked at her hands, trying not to cry again.
Primrose perched next to her. “Yes. I do believe you might be right about that.”
“It’s Alpha’s curse.”
Prim did not mollify that horrible statement with platitudes. “Do you know how old he is, your father?”
“Old enough.”
“Is that what it looks like, the curse?”
“It differs, depending on the Alpha. There are not many cases recorded, as most don’t survive long enough. Prim, he looked right at me and yet did not see me. And in his eyes there was only the wolf. No Paw.”
Primrose likely didn’t follow but she nodded. “You might want to talk to someone who knows more about this situation.”
“Dama?” Rue scrubbed at her face with her hand.
“No – your mother. I know it’s not your favourite thing to do, but I believe you should confront her. They must have been hiding this from you. We weren’t out of the country so long that he should have deteriorated this quickly.”
“Unless I wilfully refused to notice.”
“Rue, be kind to yourself. Even you aren’t that obtuse.”
“It takes a lot out of me, confronting my mother. I need a plan, in case she doesn’t have one.”
Prim gave her a look. “You mean if you disagree with hers? Your mother always has a plan.”
“Fair point. Do you think Percy would look up Alpha’s curse, see what he can find?”
“Of course. I’ll ask him. You believe there’s something we can do that hasn’t been tried before?”
“To stop Alpha’s curse? I doubt it. But we might isolate him for the safety of others.”
“And stop him being challenged and killed by some whippersnapper? To what purpose? So he can die alone and insane? Be fair to him, Rue.”
Rue closed her eyes and swallowed. Primrose was right. She couldn’t decide her father’s fate any more than he could dictate hers. “I have to try something!”
Primrose stood and went to the porthole. “A few hours until sunset. I’ll put Percy on it.”
“What happened to Quesnel?”
Primrose looked severe. “Mr Lefoux has gone about his business. He tried to follow us but Percy sent him on his way.”
“Did he really? They didn’t start yelling at each other again, did they?”
“No, thank goodness. My brother has been known to be capable in emergency situations.”
“Is this an emergency situation?”
“Yes, I do believe it might be. Now I’ll go and talk to him. Should I fetch tea?”
“Would you join me?”
“By all means. I’ll stay as long as you need.”
Rue found a small smile somewhere and pasted it on. “Would you read to me?”
It harkened back to their childhood days. Primrose was a quick study and had read earlier than Rue, who was frankly too lazy to bother with book learning overmuch. Primrose would read to Rue out loud in her halting child’s treble. As they got older, Prim would do the voices and get all dramatic. Rue could read herself by then, but she liked being spoiled.
Primrose gave a tinkling laugh. “I’d be delighted. German poetry perhaps?”
“Something less painful, I think.”
Primrose disappeared briefly. Tea arrived a quarter of an hour later, brought in by a worried-looking Virgil. He’d been sent by Percy, because tea detail wasn’t ordinarily Virgil’s responsibility. Footnote followed, or was pushed gently into the room by some redhead hovering out of view. The feline performed his catlike duty by jumping instantly onto Rue’s lap and purring up a storm.
Primrose followed shortly. “I’ve brought you Byron – always makes things better.”
Cook had included a few custard éclairs – Rue’s favourite. She managed to inhale two while Prim sipped tea and read Byron in ridiculously sepulchral tones. Everyone was being so nice, Rue almost felt the urge to cry again. She put her tea down and buried her face in Footnote’s fuzzy coat, which smelled faintly of cheese.
In the end, it did make her feel better. Byron was so ridiculously melodramatic it quite made her feel as if she were overdoing it herself. Tea, poetry, and cat duly applied, Rue girded her loins. The sun had set and it was time to approach her mother.
Percy appeared just as she was heading out. His hair was sticking up all over, as if he’d been tugging at it.
“Prudence? About your quandary?”
Rue was eager. “Do you have anything for me?”
“Aside from suggesting he stay in permanent contact with your mother? That might stave off Alpha’s curse.”
Rue shuddered. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
Percy shrugged. “Well, then, there’s always Egypt.”
“Oh? Oh! The God-Breaker Plague you mean?”
“Yes. There’s very little written about it, and the more recent stuff is classified. But it does make immortals mortal, so it might counteract the curse. He’d go ahead and die, though. I mean, just like the rest of us.”
Rue hugged him fiercely. “Thank you, Percy.”
“Oh leave off.” He brushed her away gruffly, but his eyes crinkled in pleasure.
Rue hailed a hackney. She considered herself a New Woman, thus she did not think it odd to travel alone in public hire, even if Primrose frowned upon it and Aunt Ivy thought it perfectly scandalous.
Nothing awful happened during the three-quarters-of-an-hour drive. She paid her fare, bidding the man on the box a pleasant evening, and took a deep breath to settle her nerves.
It was after dark so the werewolves were awake, and there were a number of clavigers also surging round. Many of them, duties discharged for the day, were heading off to their theatrical obligations or other pursuits. It was the pack equivalent of the changing of the guards.
“Evening, Lady Prudence. You’re not in the wrong house, are you?” A new claviger, whose name Rue did not know, let her in and gave her a small salute.
“You might well ask but I’ve come to call on Mother.”
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