The countess stood. “Good point. And she is French. They get terribly emotional, don’t they? Ambrose, arm the defenses. Hematol, send out runners. If it really is an octomaton, we are going to need additional military support. Get me my personal physician. Oh, and bring out the aethertronic Gatling gun.”
Lady Maccon could not help but admire the countess’s command of the situation. Alexia herself was sometimes known, among members of the pack, as the general. Of course, the gentlemen in question believed their mistress unaware of this moniker. Alexia preferred it that way and would periodically go into fits of autocratic demands simply to ascertain if she could get them to grumble about it when they thought she couldn’t hear. Werewolves tended to believe all mortals slightly deaf.
As the countess set about putting her people in order, her meal, left to lie on the tea table in soporific languor, stirred. The young blonde raised herself slowly up onto her elbows and looked about foggily.
“Felicity!”
“Oh, dear, Alexia? What on earth are you doing here?”
“Me! Me?” Lady Maccon was reduced to sputtering. “What about you? I’ll have you know, sister mine, that I came here because I had an invitation to the party!”
Felicity wiped delicately at the side of her neck with a tea cloth. “I didn’t know you ran in the countess’s circles.”
“You mean, supernatural circles? My husband is a werewolf, for goodness’ sake! Must you keep forgetting that tiny little detail?”
“Yes, but on full-moon night, shouldn’t you be with him? And aren’t you terribly far along to be out in public?”
Lady Maccon practically growled. “Felicity. My presence here is not of concern. But yours most certainly is! What on earth are you doing allowing a vampire—and not just any vampire, mind you, but the ruddy Westminster queen herself—to feed on you? You’re?.?.?.?you’re?.?.?.?not even chaperoned!” she sputtered.
Felicity’s expression became hard and calculating. Alexia had seen that look before but had never given it much credence beyond smallness of mind. However, this time she had the upsetting realization that she might have underestimated her sister. “Felicity, what have you done?”
Felicity gave a humorless little smile.
“How long has this relationship been going on?” Alexia tried to think back. When had her sister first started wearing high-necked dresses and lace collars?
“Oh, Alexia, you can be so dim-witted. Since I met Lord Ambrose at your wedding, of course. He very kindly said that I looked like just the type of creative and ambitious young lady who would have excess soul. He asked if I would like to live forever. I thought to myself, well, of course I have excess soul. Mama is always saying what a good artist I would be, should I ever try, and what a good musician I would be, should I ever learn to play. And, most assuredly, I should like to live forever! Not to mention be courted by Lord Ambrose! Then what should the other ladies have to say?”
Lady Maccon ground her teeth together. “Felicity! What have you done? Oh, gracious me, it was you who stole my journal on the dirigible to Scotland, wasn’t it?”
Felicity looked archly up at the ceiling.
“You leaked my pregnancy to the press intentionally, didn’t you?”
Felicity gave a delicate little shrug.
Alexia was quite disgusted with her sister. To be stupid was one thing; to be stupid and evil yielded up untidy consequences. “Why, you conniving bit of baggage! How could you? To your own flesh and blood!” She was also scandalized. “Do pull your dress up. What a neckline!” Alexia was so out of temper, in fact, she nearly forgot that they were all in danger from a rampaging two-story octopus. “And?”
Felicity pursed her lips and looked at the ceiling.
“Go on!”
“Oh, really, sister, there is no need to take that tone of voice with me. All Lord Ambrose wanted was a few reports on your activities and health now and again. Well, and the journal. Until this recent change of address—then we thought if I were to take up residence with you, well, you know?.?.?.?And I’ve been visiting with the countess only now and again, let her have a little nibble, relay some information. No harm done. She’s perfectly lovely, isn’t she? Quite the motherly sort.”
“Aside from the neck biting?” Sarcasm was, of course, the lowest form of discourse, but sometimes Alexia couldn’t resist such temptation as her sister offered. That was probably how Countess Nadasdy felt. Which explains those ugly shawls Felicity’s been wearing. She’s been hiding her neck.
They both turned to watch the countess as she conferred with two of her drones. She was moving lightning fast from one task to the next, preparing to defend her territory with both might and cunning and, if Alexia’s eyes were to be believed, a tin of what looked to be pickled herring. The vampire queen had the demeanor and appearance of some sort of small, quick hedge bird—a tit, perhaps. If a tit could kill you with a mere nod of its little feathered head.
“Felicity. What did you tell her about me?”
“Well, anything I could think of, of course. But really, Alexia, your activities are very dull. I fail to see why anyone should be interested in you or that child of yours.”
“You would.”
With her hive busy mustering up troops, the countess flitted back over, sat down, and looked as though she intended to return to tea.
Lady Maccon narrowed her eyes, marched the last few feet to the beautiful cream brocade settee, and placed a very firm and very bare hand on the vampire queen’s forearm. Alexia was a good deal stronger than a proper English lady ought to be, and the countess was suddenly ill equipped to shake off such a grip.