“Now, Alexia, I thought you were embarrassed about it. I didn’t want to bring up an uncomfortable personal disability. I have more sensitivity and care for the feelings of others than that!”
“Ah, oh, well. Of course you do. Regardless, as a preternatural, I am currently engaged in some investigations. I was hoping to enlist your aid. It has to do with my husband’s work.” Alexia didn’t want to tell Ivy absolutely everything, but she didn’t want to fib outright either.
“For BUR? Espionage! Oh, really? How terribly glamorous.” Ivy clasped yellow-gloved hands together in delight.
“To which end I was hoping to, well, induct you into a kind of secret society.”
Ivy looked as though she had not heard anything so thrilling in all her life. “Me?” she squeaked. “Really? How marvelous. What’s it called, this secret society?”
Alexia hesitated and then, recalling a phrase her husband had once offered up in the heat of annoyance, suggested tentatively, “The Parasol Protectorate?”
“Oooh, what a perfectly splendid name. So full of ornamentation!” Ivy practically bounced up and down on the lavender settee in her excitement. “Must I make a pledge, or memorize a sacred code of conduct, or engage in some pagan ritual or other?” Ivy had an expectant look on her face that suggested she would be very disappointed if this were not the case.
“Well, yes, of course.” Lady Maccon floundered, trying to come up with something appropriate to the occasion. She couldn’t make Ivy kneel, not in that dress—a periwinkle muslin day gown with an extremely long, tight bodice of the style favored by actresses.
After a moment’s thought, Alexia stood laboriously and waddled over to the umbrella stand to retrieve her parasol. This she opened and placed point downward in the center of the room. Since the room was so very small, this did manage to take up most of the free space. Motioning Ivy to stand, Alexia handed her the handle and said, “Spin the parasol 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.”
Ivy did as she was told, face serious and concentrated. “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.”
“Now pick the parasol up and raise it, open, to the ceiling. Yes, just like that.”
“Is that all? Shouldn’t the vow be sealed in blood or something like?”
“Oh, do you think?”
Ivy nodded enthusiastically.
Alexia shrugged. “If you insist.” She took back her parasol, snapped it closed, and twisted the handle. Two wickedly sharp spikes projected out of the tip, one of silver, the other of wood.
Ivy inhaled in appreciation.
Lady Maccon flipped the parasol about. Then she took off one of her gloves. After a moment’s hesitation, Ivy did the same. Alexia nicked the pad of her thumb with the silver spike and then did the same for Ivy, who gave a little squeak of alarm. Then Alexia pressed their two thumbs together.
“May the blood of the soulless keep your own soul safe,” intoned Alexia, feeling appallingly melodramatic but knowing Ivy would love this better than anything.
Ivy did. “Oh, Alexia, this is so very stirring! It should be part of a play.”
“I shall have a special parasol made up for you, similar to mine.”
“Oh, no, but thank you for the thought, Alexia. I couldn’t possibly carry an accessory that emitted things all willy-nilly like that. Really, I’m much obliged, but I simply couldn’t bear it. You, of course, manage to carry it off with aplomb, but it would be too vulgar on someone like me.”
Lady Maccon frowned, but knowing her friend’s true weakness, she made another suggestion. “A special hat, perhaps?”
Ivy hesitated.
“Madame Lefoux designed my parasol.”
“Well, perhaps a small hat. One that isn’t too oozy?”
Alexia smiled. “I am convinced that could be arranged.”
Ivy bit her lip on a smile. “Oh, Alexia, a secret society. How marvelous of you. Who else is a member? Do we have regular meetings? Is there a covert signal so we should know one another at social gatherings?”
“Um, well, as to that, so far you are my first inductee, so to speak. I anticipate future members, though.”
Ivy looked quite crestfallen.
Lady Maccon continued on hastily. “But you will have to operate and report in under a cipher, of course—for aetherograms and other secret messages.”
Ivy brightened at that. “Oh, of course. What shall my cipher be? Something romantic yet subtle, I hope?”
Lady Maccon contemplated her friend while a series of rather silly names suggested themselves. Finally, she settled on one she knew Ivy would like, because it represented a style of headdress to which she was rather devoted but that Alexia might remember because it struck her as particularly Ivyish. “How about Puff Bonnet?”
Ivy’s pretty face glowed with pleasure. “Oh, fabulous. Perfectly modish. And what’s yours?”
Again, Alexia was ill prepared for the question. She cast about helplessly. “Uh. Oh, let me think.” She grappled, running through her mind several of Lord Akeldama’s epithets and some of her husband’s more affectionate endearments. Nothing quite suited a secret society, at least not that she could admit openly to Ivy. Finally, she settled on the simplest she could think of. “You may refer to me as the Ruffled Parasol. That should do well enough.”