“We want you to go, only we have another reason.”
Percy leaned forward. “Of course you do.”
“One of our friends is missing… in Japan.”
“Oh? And why was he there?”
“She was there for the exact same reason, chasing rumours.”
“Rumours of what?”
“Fox shifters.”
Percy frowned. There’d been rumours of fox shifters in Nottingham, recently disproved. Frankly, given biological restrictions on the preservation of mass, fox shifting was improbable if not outright impossible. They’d have to be extraordinarily small people or very big foxes. “That can’t possibly work given the general perimeters of physics. Not even in Japan.”
Madame Lefoux chuckled. “Tell that to the fox shifters.”
“I’ll pass along the sightings reports.” Aunt Softy came over all businesslike.
Percy found great solace in paperwork. “I think you better had. Your friend had this information and disappeared while investigating it?”
“Well over a month ago. Her airship was found in pieces.” Aunt Softy slid over a photograph of an entirely unprepossessing female, matronly in the extreme, pudding faced and grave. The kind of woman doomed to unfinished crochet projects.
“Intrepid explorer, is she?”
“Don’t be a brat, Percival.”
“What name does she go by?”
“You’ll be asking after the Wallflower. Be discreet.”
“Discretion is my middle name.”
“No, it isn’t, it’s Ormond.”
Percy tucked the photo into his waistcoat. “I’ll be sharing this information with Rue and Prim. I’m absentminded, ladies, but I never intentionally keep secrets. I won’t play your game, whatever it may be.”
Again the three women looked at one another. “We only want her home safe. She’s never been out of contact for so long.”
“Did you send her?”
“No. Lord Akeldama.”
Percy wasn’t even slightly surprised by that. Every vampire kept intelligencers on staff, espionage seemed to be granted along with one’s fangs. Even Percy’s ridiculous mother kept spies. Admittedly, they were mostly stationed in Paris at the couture fashion houses, but spies nevertheless.
“And does the good vampire know Lady Maccon will be asking us to float to Japan?”
“No, he’d likely put a stop to it. He wouldn’t want Rue to go into that kind of danger.”
“Dangerous, is it?”
“Very.”
“Well, I’m out.”
“Percival Ormond Tunstell!”
“Only shading you.” No one ever understood Percy’s sense of humour. “Danger is like catnip to Rue. She’ll go for it. Also we have the advantage.”
“You do?”
Percy turned and gestured at the drama occurring near the dance floor.
The situation was now under control. Between them, Rodrigo, Anitra, and Tasherit had broken up the scuffle and separated the various supernatural sets.
Anitra had Lord Ambrose’s arm and was looking up at the vampire with big dark eyes, pretending deep fascination with his pontifications. He was absorbed by her attention, her exoticism, and her pointed interest. (She couldn’t possibly be interested, of course, but she, too, worked for Lord Akeldama.)
Rodrigo still had his hands full, literally, although the werewolves had calmed. Even the ones who’d shifted, or tried to, were back in kilts, if nothing else. A gaggle of LIMPs surrounded the shirtless Scotsmen. The pack did not seem averse to the attention so Percy wished them well of it.
Tasherit was off to one side, robe on (it was hard to know if she’d shifted, as she was good at getting in and out of robes), an expression of resignation on her face. She put out an arm and Primrose slid up to her and under it. His sister looked distressed, but a few words from Tash and a gentle nuzzle, and Prim relaxed.
The crew of The Spotted Custard had dealt with more contentious situations than this.
“They’re good, aren’t they? I do so admire efficiency.” Aunt Softy sounded self-satisfied. “Rodrigo is an excellent addition. I always thought he would be.”
Percy blinked at this but his attention was caught by a slim dark-haired figure. Their new doctor was tending to some minor injuries caused in the scuffle. Her fine white hands moved with quick competence. No doubt she was murmuring sympathetic words. No one, not even the tetchiest claviger, objected to her ministrations. One of the London werewolves seemed overly pleased.
Percy nearly stood to go over. He stopped himself and instead glared at any man fortunate enough to be the subject of Dr Ruthven’s undivided attention.
The ladies at the table followed his glower.
“That’s how it is, then?” Madame Lefoux sounded as if she’d had a puzzle solved.
Aunt Softy sucked in a breath. “We’re sure about her?”
Percy turned back, interested despite himself.
Lady Kingair nodded. “She’s solid. Preshea’s man did good with the girls. No one’s more surprised than Preshea, I suspect.”
Madame Lefoux handed Lady Kingair a small cigar. “More of your meddling, Sophronia?”
“Goldenrod’s, I think.” Aunt Softy passed over a guillotine to nip the tip, and they all paused reverently while the Alpha lit her cigar and puffed. Fragrant vanilla permeated the air.
Madame Lefoux tilted her head. “I’ve nothing to add. I’ve been indentured too long with vampires, and since then keeping to myself and my inventions in the country.”
Aunt Softy sniffed. “Imogene’s fault.”
“Yes.” Madame Lefoux smiled that smile Quesnel sometimes got when he was thinking about Rue. Or Primrose when she spoke of Tasherit.
Percy looked away, swallowed down the sudden ache in his throat. He felt a twinge of unworthiness. No one ever smiled like that when they spoke of him. Quite the opposite, in fact. His name was, more often than not, coupled with a pained expression. He sipped his tea a little desperately. Ugh, it’s cold.
Lady Kingair refocused their attention on the doctor, busy bandaging up a drone. “I shouldna make the mistake of assuming she’s a pawn. But that dinna mean she’s a player.”
Percy was a little scared to remind them he was present, but he was curious. “Why else do you think she’s solid then, Alpha?”
“Have to be, no? If she was a field surgeon and a woman. Any mistake at all and she’d be blamed. You fretting, laddie?” Lady Kingair sounded almost protective of Dr Ruthven. Percy supposed the werewolf woman had experience being female in a male’s world.
Percy didn’t doubt that Arsenic was an excellent surgeon, it was the way she affected the speech capacities of his brain that had him concerned. But he wasn’t going to say that.
Aunt Softy’s attention was caught by a flash of red hair and a sour expression skulking in the garden. “Pardon me a moment. I see someone I must consult with.” She stood and vanished into the shadows with remarkable alacrity.
Lady Kingair watched her, then looked back at Madame Lefoux with a quirked brow.
Madame Lefoux nodded. “One of mine. You think I’d let my son go traipsing off around the world without keeping an eye on him?”
“Introduce me later?”
Percy sighed, this was getting ridiculous. “You’re claiming Aggie Phinkerlington?” he asked the Frenchwoman.
“Someone has to.” Madame Lefoux shook her head in mock irritation. “Didn’t realize she knew Sophronia. Though now I think about it, Aggie did find me for an apprenticeship despite the fact that I was hidden in the countryside surrounded by vampires at the time. It’d be just like Sophronia to have pointed her in my direction.”
Lady Kingair puffed on her cigar. “Honestly, I dinna know why she pretends to be retired.”
“Pretends to be retired from what, exactly?” Percy pried.
“Being a tricky bit of baggage.” The Alpha gave a toothy grin.
“Noble goal.”
Lad
y Kingair laughed a little too loudly. “She claims that deceiving people keeps her young.”
Percy blinked. Aunt Softy seemed the opposite of young.
At that moment, Primrose came bustling up. “Please excuse me, Madame Lefoux, Alpha Kingair, but I really must steal my brother away. There are far too many young ladies without dance partners. He must do his terpsichorean duty.”
Madame Lefoux stood as well. “I can help with that.”
Primrose, who’d turned over a decidedly new leaf recently, didn’t flinch at the offer. “Oh good, you’re likely a better lead than Percy.”
Madame Lefoux gave them both an amused French look. “Of course I am.”
Percy sighed. “Do pardon us, Lady Kingair.”
The Alpha was clearly pleased to finish her cigar in solitary grandeur.
Percy approached the dance floor with trepidation. Despite his sister’s concerns, the grotto was now swollen with dancers. Many of those who’d so recently been embattled were now spinning about the floor.
Quesnel was dancing with Miss Imogene, while his bride danced with Lord Akeldama. Lord Falmouth whirled by with Anitra.
Percy was pleased to see that. He’d been afraid the Drifter would lack partners, since her preference in clothing might result in dismissal. Tasherit could be snubbed for her robes with impunity, she laughed such things off, but Percy knew Anitra to be more sensitive. It was nice of Alpha Biffy to set a precedent of acceptance.
“What are you doing standing around gawking, Percy? Look there, go ask one of those nice-looking young ladies for her card.”
Percy did not follow his sister’s directive, keeping his eyes on the floor. The hairs on the back of his neck told him he’d caught the attention of the LIMPs.
He dared not move.
Professor Lyall swirled by, dancing with a wide-eyed and uncharacteristically nervous-looking Spoo. Percy hid a smile. One of the Kingair Pack, a tall overly good-looking fellow, twirled around with the Custard’s doctor.
Percy frowned.
The music wound down and partners were led off the floor, refreshments obtained. Primrose became fierce. “Percy, go engage Dr Ruthven for the next set. You know you wish to.”
“I do not!”
“Too late anyway, Lord Falmouth has her. Oh, good evening, Professor Lyall, how are you tonight?”
“Miss Tunstell, Professor Tunstell.”
Percy seized on the opportunity not to dance and not to do as his sister wished. “Ah, Professor Lyall, perhaps I might perform that introduction you requested? Now?”
“Delighted. Miss Tunstell, if you’ll excuse us?”
Percy had no compunction at all about applying a werewolf as a bad guy in this situation.
Primrose made a face but would not boss Percy against a gentlemen’s agreement. “Oh, very well. But, Percy, I expect to see you dance at least three dances this evening.”
Percy ignored her and walked away into the gardens, Professor Lyall at his side. No doubt, behind them, the LIMPs were falling into fits of despondency.
“Aren’t you going to thank me for the rescue?”
“Ah.” Percy flushed. “Well, yes, thank you, Professor.”
“Not fond of dancing?”
“Not even slightly. Ah, there’s Rodrigo. Rodrigo, please allow me to introduce Professor Lyall, Beta of the London Pack? Professor, this is Mr Tarabotti, Rue’s cousin.”
Rodrigo looked without much interest at the utterly forgettable sandy-haired gentleman standing before him. “Werewolf.” He gave a curt nod. He’d never learned to entirely accept the supernatural, not socially, not after his upbringing.
“Might we have a private word about your grandfather, Mr Tarabotti? He was a dear friend.”
Percy was being dismissed, how disappointing. His escape tactic had failed. He gave a little bow and left the now bewildered Rodrigo with the Beta werewolf.
“What was that about?”
Rue appeared at his side, cheeks rosy and hair a little mussed.
“Are you supposed to be noticing anything beyond the glittering worshipful gaze of your new beloved husband?”
“No, but I like to keep watch on Rodrigo, even when in the throes of spousal adoration. Let him loose and he goes off and kills people all willy-nilly.”
“Lot of that going around?”
“It’s not unexpected.”
“Professor Lyall can take care of himself.”
“That your professional opinion, Percy?”
“Sarcasm is a very unattractive character trait in a bride.”
“Oh, do be quiet and come dance with me then, bride’s prerogative. You can tell me all about how worshipful Quesnel’s eyes are.”
Percy could do nothing but acquiesce.
The reception, thankfully, remained calm for the rest of the evening, with only a few moments of tension. Madame Lefoux caused a stir by dancing openly with Miss Imogene. Until Lord Falmouth ostentatiously led his Beta out onto the floor. Then Lady Kingair joined them, a monumentally uncomfortable but militant-looking Aggie Phinkerlington in her arms.
When Lord Akeldama, a twinkle in his eye, offered his arm to Percy, Percy only sighed and joined them. He’d prefer a hundred times dancing with a vampire over any of the LIMPs, since he could be tolerably certain Lord Akeldama wasn’t after his hand in marriage.
“Which one of us should lead?” he whispered. He was taller than the vampire, but Lord Akeldama was a great deal more bossy.
“Practical to the last breath, aren’t you, darling boy? I’ve seen you dance, plumb-bob. I’ll lead.”
Percy might have stepped on Lord Akeldama’s feet a time or two, which distressed the vampire via shoe smudges (as opposed to actually causing him any physical harm). Percy could dance rather well, of course, it was simply that he didn’t want to and he had a reputation to maintain. Besides, one must seize upon any excuse to step on a vampire’s toes, for the sake of humanity. Percy was, in the end, a man of principle.
There was sure to be scandal in the papers – ladies dancing with ladies was one thing, but gentlemen dancing with gentlemen? At a wedding? That was beyond even the supernatural set. But Rue (who was waltzing happily with Tasherit) seemed pleased with this probable outcome. Quesnel was amiable enough not to care about social standing. He swirled around with one of Lord Akeldama’s more impressively dressed drones.
Percy shrugged. Ah well, they were departing London soon. He suspected Rue of intentionally scandalmongering. If she could not produce the best wedding London ever saw, she could at least produce the most outrageous.
Only one other thing of note occurred, and had Percy not been on guard because of Aunt Softy’s presence he would never have noticed. Lord Akeldama, having finished their set, led Percy over to the punch bowl. As if Percy were an overtaxed young lady in need of refreshment. Percy trailed after him, obligingly.
Primrose met them, wringing her hands. “Well, that was an excessive display.” She said it to Percy, because he was the only one she could criticize to his face.
Percy stuffed a biscuit shaped like a hedgehog into his mouth as an excuse not to answer.
Tasherit, Rue, and Quesnel joined them.
“Progress never did come easily to high society, sweetling.” The vampire’s eyes crinkled in amusement.
“I hardly see how dancing can change the course of civilisation,” snapped Prim.
“Give it a chance,” replied Rue, grinning.
“Come now, little one, it’s fun. Dance with me next?” Tasherit nudged up against Prim coquettishly.
Primrose batted at her lover in perturbation. “What if Mother finds out about this?”
Percy rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t that the point? We can’t all of us be accused of deviant behaviour at once.”
“Of course we can! This is Mother we’re talking about.” Prim looked at Lord Akeldama. “You’ll be blamed.”
“Indubitably, my pearl. Mr Lefoux, would you care to dance?”
“Charmed, I
’m sure, but I think I want my bride back in my arms.”
“As you should!” The vampire looked delighted.
“Why not ask Rodrigo, my lord?” Quesnel’s voice was sly.
Lord Akeldama winced only slightly. “I think not.”
“Not fond of preternaturals, Lord Akeldama?” Tasherit was grinning, catlike and pleased to be teasing another immortal.
“Not as a general rule, Miss Sekhmet.”
And then the most peculiar thing occurred. It was as if the vampire and the werecat were alone, surrounded by a thousand years of stillness. The two immortals stood staring at each other.
Percy found himself holding his breath.
“It’s good to see you again, Alexander.” Tasherit’s dark eyes were grave.
“It’s been a long time.”
“Too long. Still keeping the company of cats?” Tasherit’s voice sounded odd.
“I’ve two kittens at the moment.”
“Of course you do.”
“Terribly high maintenance.”
“Cats generally are,” said Prim, fondly.
For once, Tasherit didn’t pay attention to Primrose.
The werecat moved close to the vampire, a little too close. Her dark eyes searched his face a moment, looking for something. Then Tasherit lifted the long chain necklace she always wore off her neck – two charms dangled from it. They were small and not something Percy had ever had the opportunity to examine closely, but he’d always thought one was a shield and the other a sword.
Primrose gave a tiny little surprised gasp.
Tasherit handed the necklace to Lord Akeldama.
He broke the chain, sliding the two charms off. He turned them about in his hand, then shifted them in such a way that they snapped together, so that the shield became the head and the sword the body, forming a scarecrow shape.
“Ah,” said Tasherit, “the ankh. Of course.”
“Unopened and unbroken.” The vampire tucked it into his inside waistcoat pocket. “She died well?”
“She did. A long time ago.” The werecat’s face was serene.
“None of us can ask for more.” The vampire didn’t use any pet names on the werecat. Percy wondered about that.
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