Curtsies & Conspiracies

The 6th test GARNERING INVITATIONS

The girls entered the breakfast room to find the postal steward calling names and passing out correspondences. Since they had gone to white, Captain Niall must have undertaken a run back to Swiffle-on-Exe to retrieve missives. The teachers were always saying that the captain was not an errand boy at the beck and call of young ladies’ whims, but on occasion he did perform groundside services made convenient by his land-bound state and supernatural speed.

There was nothing for Sophronia, who sat bleary-eyed and exhausted at the end of the table while the other girls exclaimed. Her fellows exhibited new trinkets to their male dining companions and shared the latest gossip from home. It was an orgy of batted eyelashes, and Sophronia was finding herself unable to cope with fluttering on only a few hours sleep.

Felix Mersey ostentatiously picked up his place setting and moved it next to hers. “What’s wrong, pretty Ria? You seem to have lost your customary aloofness.”

“Oh, do go away. I’m not up to dalliance this morning.”

He pouted at her. “Is that all I am to you? A plaything, a speck of dust on a sunbeam, a bit of dandelion fluff on the breeze?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly.” Sophronia hid a smile at such silliness. No sense encouraging the blighter.

“Hard-hearted, that’s what you are.”

“You’re an imbecile, you do realize?”

Any further conversation was interrupted, as it was surely meant to be, by a squeal from Monique. It was emitted upon reading a gold-embossed letter and caught even Mademoiselle Geraldine’s attention from the head table.

Felix moved hastily out of indiscreet proximity to Sophronia.

“Miss Pelouse, have you something of note to share with the assembly?” wondered the headmistress.

The blonde girl stood gracefully, glancing over the entire room with a beneficent smile. She looked like a queen addressing her subjects, holding her gold missive in one hand as though an award received from on high. Her dress that morning was of royal blue with butter-lemon stripes, a row of gold pom-poms down the front in increasing size. It was almost as though it were intended to match the letter.

“Nothing of any consequence, Headmistress,” she said, blushing prettily. “It’s only that my dear mama has informed me that she intends to hold my coming-out ball when we arrive in town!”

Pandemonium reigned. The announcement of a trip to London had been one thing, and the presence of boys another, but this was the Thing to End All Things—a ball!

A breakfast selection of German sausage, broiled kidney, dried salmon, and muttonchops arrived, but few registered it. Some of the young ladies even ate the salmon without concern to vital humors—when everyone knew colored fish flesh could bring on an attack of hysteria.

Sophronia refused to be ruffled. She ate the same thing every morning: porridge.

Girls began to find excuses to call at Monique’s table to compliment the horrid girl on the cut of her dress or the size of her pom-poms, angling for an invitation.

“What lovely earrings, Monique.”

“Yes, aren’t they pretty? My father purchased them in Spain. Such an expense for little me!”

“Did you do your hair differently this morning, Monique?”

“No, but it is looking quite shiny, isn’t it?”

Pillover glanced up from his plate of sausage. “What a revolting spectacle.”

Sophronia privately agreed and contemplated breaking from her normal dietary routine and eating a sausage in order to cope.

Monique, mistress of the British Empire at that moment, seemed willing to gratify all sycophants. Most of the older girls, cronies of hers, were told right off that of course, she could not do without them in attendance. A few of the middle girls were told they might be allowed in, but the debuts—who shared her table and chambers—were left in suspense.

Preshea, at Monique’s right hand, smirked, anticipating an invite. “Can I pass you the butter, Monique? Would you care for a little more tea, Monique?”

Agatha looked terrified and Sidheag indifferent; they’d rather not be invited. Dimity kept glancing in Sophronia’s direction as if she wished they were on speaking terms so they could discuss this new kink in the workings of life.

Lord Dingleproops, Monique’s dining companion, paid her marked attention—to her evident enjoyment. Sophronia felt sorry for Dimity. Whatever false hopes he had once given her must now be crushed.

The ordeal of breakfast eventually ended. As they rose and made their way toward the exit, Sophronia snaked up behind her erstwhile best friend and whispered, “I shouldn’t be too upset. Lady Dimity Dingleproops sounds quite ridiculous, anyway.”

Dimity smothered a giggle and turned, eyes animated, prepared for a bit of a gossip—in that instant all ill feelings were forgotten. But Agatha, of all people, swooped in and linked arms with Dimity, practically dragging her away down the hall.

Through the course of that day, Monique became increasingly intolerable. She had Preshea and others running errands for her, bringing her little gifts. She would send one girl off and then make some snide comment about the poor thing’s appearance and lack of funds. Then she was all sugar when the girl returned, bearing a posy of violets or glass of barley water.

By the time Professor Braithwope’s etiquette class rolled around after sunset, everyone was beginning to show strain. The boys escorted the girls to the vampire’s door, but they had a lesson with Professor Shrimpdittle instead. Their presence made Monique worse. She latched herself onto Felix’s arm when he tried to leave her.

“Abandoning me to monsters, my lord?”

Felix chuckled. “Now, now, Miss Monique, I’m not so bad as all that. I never said they were monsters, only predators.”

“You’re so wise,” simpered Monique, still clutching.

Lady Linette paused in the hallway at the sight. “Miss Pelouse! How can you be so forward? Have you learned nothing? Lord Mersey, let go of her this instant!”

Felix lounged against the wall insolently, still attached to Monique. “I’m afraid, my lady, you must persuade her to let go of me.”

“It’s my ankle, Lady Linette. It’s feeling poorly,” professed Monique.

“Oh, is it? Should I send you to matron?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t trouble yourself. It isn’t that bad.”

“I’m certain it isn’t. Now, let go of the young viscount this moment and behave like a proper lady!”

Monique, pouting prettily, let go of Felix and marched into the vampire’s classroom with no sign of a limp. Felix made good his escape with a wink at Sophronia. Sophronia, smiling at both the rebuke and the wink, followed Monique.

Monique sat down on a fainting couch next to Preshea, and before anyone else could take the opportunity, Sophronia sat down on her other side. She wasn’t really planning anything; she only wanted to make the older girl uncomfortable.

Monique didn’t register Sophronia at first, engaged in an animated discussion with Preshea. The topic appeared to be Lord Dingleproops’s chin and whether its absence was all that important to the state of the Empire. When she turned to her left to find Sophronia sitting there primly, Monique twitched and made as if to rise.

But Professor Braithwope started class, so the blonde contented herself with turning her back on Sophronia. Sophronia had Bumbersnoot the reticule with her and placed him on the carpet behind her feet, well concealed by copious skirts.

If asked afterward, she would have explained, that there was no technical way to train a mechanical into any action outside its initial basic protocols. So it must have been without her knowledge that Bumbersnoot made his way from her skirts to Monique’s. She could never have known he would belch steam up the older girl’s drawers and deposit a pile of ash on her very expensive pink kid slippers. Never have known.

Monique got the most peculiar expression on her face and let out a muffled squawk.

She leapt to her feet and turned to glare at the obvious culprit. “Sophronia!”

Realizing that Bumbersnoot must have done something, Sophronia used her foot to shift him back to his starting position behind her own skirts and looked up innocently at the raging Monique.

Professor Braithwope whirled from where he was demonstrating entering and exiting a hive house with grace and concealed weaponry. He’d been using an arrangement of unstable top-hat boxes as steps and was not happy at being distracted. The act of whirling caused him to go through the side of one of the hatboxes in a manner most clumsy for a vampire.

“Sit down this moment, Miss Pelouse!” he barked.

“But Sophronia squirted steam up my drawers!”

Dimity let out an uncontrolled giggle. Everyone else in the class looked either surprised or amused, according to their nature.

“Whot, whot? I hardly see how she might have done that. She hasn’t moved.”

Monique sputtered. Then, knowing she could not defend herself to the teacher, she sat back down and hissed in Sophronia’s ear. “You certainly won’t be invited to my ball!”

Sophronia smiled. “My dear Monique, I never for one moment believed that I would.”

“Unnatural girl!” Monique turned to glare across the room at Dimity, who had one gloved hand pressed to her mouth and dancing eyes.

“And you! Why would I let you come either? Who are your parents? Nothing more than scientists who can’t decide which side they’re on. Not to mention the way you dress, like some market doxy!”

Dimity’s eyes instantly filled with tears, and she let out a whimper, mouth still hidden under her hand.

Sophronia sprung to Dimity’s defense. “As opposed to an eighteen-year-old girl who is only now having her coming-out ball, who failed to finish properly, and whose parents are quite probably in trade?”

All the girls in the room gasped. Even Professor Braithwope was rendered momentarily speechless by such cutting remarks.

The vampire recovered his power of speech. “Ladies! Manners, whot?”

Dimity mouthed “Thank you” at Sophronia, which earned her a harsh look from the vampire.

After that, class settled down, but something in the atmosphere had changed. As the class practiced walking up and down hatboxes, swinging skirts to conceal weapons in as elegant a manner as possible, Dimity came to stand firmly next to Sophronia.

Professor Braithwope noticed and was perturbed, but he continued the lesson. “Any vampire may be addressed properly as ‘venerable one.’ Alternatively, you may use his title, if an aristocrat. All queens have titles; they are given a baronetcy if not already holding, although that has not been necessary for centuries. Very few women survive being bitten, so rarely is there a new queen. This is why there are always fewer female drones than males.”

Sidheag raised her hand at that and asked, “Why bother?”

“Whot? Oh, to be a female drone? Well, the reward is unparalleled. Aside from immortality, if a woman survives metamorphosis, she is automatically a queen. But there are other reasons, before the bite. Drones are protected, fed, and cared for by their vampire. After a period of menial service, they are given patronage to pursue their own desires. Vampires tend to be wealthy and powerful, so they make very good friends, whot. There are drawbacks, of course.” The professor touched his own neck, hidden under the high collar.

After prancing up and down the stacked hatboxes several more times, Sophronia decided she could risk one more inquiry. “Could you tell us a little something about tethers, Professor?”

Professor Braithwope considered both Sophronia and her question. “Tethers, whot? Very well, I will indulge in a digression, but only because you’ll never understand vampire etiquette if you don’t understand our limitations. Queens cannot leave their hive house, and hive-bound vampires cannot leave the vicinity of their queen. How far they can go depends mainly on age, but it’s generally no more than a borough. Rove vampires usually have the range of an entire city, but they also remain tethered to their home. They will not stray into a hive’s territory unless invited and never enter a hive house unless they have petitioned for one of their drones to be bitten by its queen.”

Sophronia prodded further; she was wildly curious. “How does this work for you, Professor?”

“I am tethered to this ship, but I can leave it to walk around the moor.”

She pressed. “Are there other vampires tethered to airships?”

“No, we are social creatures, and mine is now such a solitary life. None have followed my example. Although you ladies make it interesting, whot.”

“What about your drones?”

“Ah, now, ladies. This brings us back to etiquette, and the purpose of this lesson. It is rude to ask after a vampire’s drones, either in courtesy or curiosity. Drones are a bit of an embarrassment. After all, you would not ask a lady about the nature and quality of her pantry, would you?”

All the girls in the class shook their heads emphatically.

The vampire turned cold eyes on Sophronia, his mustache stiff with accusation. “Anything else, Miss Temminnick?”

“What happens when a vampire goes beyond the limit of his tether?” Sophronia knew she was pushing the bounds of propriety.

Professor Braithwope paled and stilled. If a vampire could be said to go pale. Sophronia hoped never again to see a teacher whom she respected look so frightened.

The room hushed. Normally the vampire was such an easygoing teacher. Even Monique looked up, her coming-out ball forgotten for one brief moment.

Eventually he said, “Nothing good, Miss Temminnick.”

Class ended, and the girls gathered up their reticules, hats, parasols, and shawls in subdued silence. Dimity held back when the others left and waylaid Sophronia with a hand on her arm.

“Professor Braithwope, might I have a private word?” she asked their teacher once the room cleared. “Sophronia, please stay, this concerns you.”

“Yes, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott. How may I help?”

“It’s this matter of our orders from Lady Linette. You’re aware of them?”

The vampire looked back and forth between the two girls and then nodded.

“Well, I’m not going to do it anymore. Sophronia is my friend, and it isn’t fair.”

“Intelligencers don’t play fair, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott,” he replied.

“Well, then I’m no intelligencer of merit. You may send me down, if you like. I always felt I was ill suited to this lifestyle, despite my parents. I’d rather be loyal than right.”

Professor Braithwope smiled, showing fang. “Very interesting way of putting it, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott, and commendable courage, whot. We had thought you were not capable of independent action. You have, thus far, been rather dragged along in Miss Temminnick’s shadow.”

Dimity brightened. “My speaking out is a good thing? You aren’t going to report me to Lady Linette?”

“I didn’t say that, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott.”

Dimity looked crestfallen. “Whatever you think is best, vulnerable one.”

The vampire only tilted his head at Dimity’s use of the recent lesson.

Sophronia put two and two together and looked at her friend. “You were instructed to ostracize me?”

Dimity nodded, clearly ashamed.

Sophronia narrowed her eyes at Professor Braithwope. Are you testing all the other debuts in the same way, or were instructions different for each girl? Is the ostracism also a test for me?

The vampire met her speculative gaze calmly. “Did you guess, Miss Temminnick?”

Sophronia knew better than to admit to anything. “I did think it interesting that they were all so eager to blame me for high marks and react in the same way. Even Dimity. And Sidheag, who doesn’t care for the machinations of girls.” A thought occurred to her. “Were my marks inflated in order to run this test?”

Professor Braithwope’s mustache fluffed in amusement. “You would think of that. No, they were not. But Professor Lefoux did emphasize your superiority in order to drive a wedge. Now, ladies, run along or you’ll be late for your next lesson.”

They exited into the hallway, and Dimity instantly linked arms with Sophronia. It felt good to have Dimity’s bubbling presence back at her side. They trotted down a hall crowded with fellow students. Agatha and Sidheag were waiting for them.

“Tell me,” instructed Sophronia, once they were all four gathered in one corner.

“It wasn’t our fault,” defended Dimity instantly.

Agatha nodded. She lowered her head, trying to hide her face under her bonnet. Sidheag was characteristically nonchalant. Sophronia could almost hear the taller girl’s thoughts: So we weren’t talking to Sophronia and now we are? Ho hum.

Dimity burbled, trying to explain. “You see, we were each taken aside individually, after our exams, and made to promise to ostracize whichever girl had the highest marks.”

Agatha whispered, “We all thought it would be Monique.”

Sidheag added, “She had taken the test before and had four more years training.”

“Exactly,” jumped in Dimity. “That’s what I thought, too. Lady Linette told each of us that this was the second half of our exam. That if we didn’t do as instructed our official records would be marked incomplete.”

“She said they’d send me down if I didn’t obey.” Agatha looked tortured. “I tried to keep Dimity in line, too.”

Dimity nodded. “Our continued presence at the school depended upon us not speaking to you.”

“Now we’ll probably all be dismissed,” said Sidheag brightly.

“Better than being disloyal! Besides, you two didn’t renege, I did.” Dimity had all the conviction of one who has taken uncertain action and now must justify the consequences. She fiddled with the glittery ruby-and-gold broach at her throat—paste and gilt, of course.

Sophronia chewed her lip. “What if I admitted you were with me last year for the record room break-in? What if they knew how well you did then? Do you think that would count in your favor?”

Dimity was skeptical. “You would have to confess to something that we got away with. And pinned on Monique. They might count an admission against both of us.”

“It’s all so convoluted,” said Sidheag, exasperated.

“It always is.” Agatha was philosophically despondent.

“I hated to do it,” admitted Dimity. “Well, right up until you scared off Dingleproops.”

“It wasn’t him, Dimity. Please believe me. I don’t know who it was or why they set you up, but it wasn’t him, I promise you that.”

Dimity looked nonplussed. “He said as much, but I thought I’d been the butt of some cruel joke. Who was it, then?”

Preshea came bustling up. “If you ladies are quite finished? Sister Mattie wants to know why you aren’t in class.”

The girls glanced around. The hallway was empty except for them.

Preshea said to Dimity, “I see you broke your word to Lady Linette.”

Dimity huffed. “It was going too far. We were going too far.”

“Far is where they will throw you.” Preshea turned away.

“I’ll take that over being mean to a friend,” said Dimity staunchly to the girl’s retreating back. “Not that you would ever understand that, Preshea.”

Sophronia let out a small breath of relief. She hadn’t realized until that moment how unhappy she’d been without Dimity’s friendship. She thought she’d been rattling along fine on her own, but now she noticed the knots in her stomach releasing and the undeniable sensation of wanting to cry from relief.

Sophronia’s little band had reunited just in time. Monique’s promises of ball invitations were causing social mayhem. Snide comments and sharp elbows abounded. It was all much easier to endure now that the four of them were together again. They heard nothing from the teachers as to the repercussions of Dimity’s staunch decision, and they avoided speculating on that, at least. Everything else was fair game.

Sophronia brought them up to speed on some of her private investigations.

Sidheag put it together without frills, as her werewolf-trained mind was prone. “I’ve been wondering about this. Captain Niall said the vampires might be involved with Giffard’s flight? Why?”

Sophronia said, “If Professor Braithwope can tether to an airship, so could other roves.”

“Yes, but why now? Presumably old Prof has been doing it for simply ages.”

“Perhaps this new ship of Giffard’s is more vampire-safe. Or perhaps it has to do with the new technology Giffard is employing. If it works, it’d be much faster than other airships. Perhaps the vampires want access to that speed. I don’t think they like to be limited.”

Dimity looked at her friend. “I thought you were a progressive.”

“Maybe, but I don’t know if it’s right. I mean to say, Professor Braithwope is nice, but vampires need to be kept in check, don’t you think?”

Sidheag nodded vigorously. Dimity shrugged. Agatha looked at the floor.

Dimity said, “Mummy and Daddy have arguments like this. When Daddy says something like that, Mummy calls him a Pickleman.”

Sophronia nodded. “Well, I haven’t taken sides yet.”

Agatha said, “Oh, dear, are there sides?”

“Very likely. Speaking of your parents, Dimity, they haven’t upset anyone recently, have they? Anyone important or powerful? On either side, perhaps?”

Dimity frowned. “I don’t think so, why? Oh, because of that odd thing with Lord Dingleproops’s letter? You think someone might be trying to influence my parents through me?”

“It’s one explanation.”

“I don’t know.” Dimity brightened. “I shall write and ask them directly. Or better, I’ll get Pillover to do it. They will be delighted he’s finally taken an interest in something besides Latin verse. They might even tell him something truthful. I think they gave up on me when I announced my ‘hankies for hackneys’ good works plan.”

“What?” Sophronia was distracted.

“London cabbies are so very often under the weather,” said Dimity with a sniff. “One does what one can.”

“Oh, well, yes. And getting Pillover to write, good idea.” Sophronia was determined to be nice and not to take Dimity for granted ever again. Especially with the possibility that Dimity’s time at Mademoiselle Geraldine’s was soon to end. Even if Dimity had some harebrained scheme about hankies.

Sophronia remembered last evening, when she and Vieve had spied on Professors Lefoux and Shrimpdittle. “I think Monique is somehow in on it, too. I know she’s been crowing about this ball of hers, but she’s at least involved in Professor Lefoux’s experiment as an errand girl. We should run an infiltration on her.”

Dimity nodded. They’d taken instruction recently from Lady Linette in the planning of provocational action. Time to put lessons to use.

“She’ll not believe it, if it were me,” said Dimity.

Sophronia agreed. “Nor Sidheag.” The taller girl looked up at her name. “You would never change your personality so drastically as to be interested in a ball. You might betray us, but not for an invitation.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Sidheag.

“It’ll have to be Agatha,” said Dimity.

Sophronia and Sidheag looked doubtful. Agatha was definitely their weakest link.

The redhead looked back and forth between them with dread in her eyes. “Oh, dear, scheming. I was afraid this would happen if we got chummy again.”

Sophronia hunkered down conspiratorially. “You’re the only possible choice, Agatha. You need to infiltrate Monique’s group.”

“Wait! What? Me?”

“Yes, simply pretend you really want an invitation to her blasted ball. Start lurking on the fringes. Keep an eye on her,” instructed Sophronia.

“Then report back to us with the details!” added Dimity triumphantly.

“Oh, I don’t know about this.” Agatha’s eyes were huge in distress.

“You don’t have to do anything, only watch.” Sidheag tried to be reassuring.

“It’ll be good for you, Agatha. Show the teachers you’ve got acumen.” Dimity was optimistic.

Agatha brightened. “Oh, do you think it might?” Unlike Sidheag and Dimity, Agatha actually wanted to stay at Mademoiselle Geraldine’s—to please her papa.

“And,” added Dimity brightly, “it might net you an invitation to the ball.”

That was not the right tactic. Agatha looked terrified at the possibility.

Sophronia said hurriedly, “Oh, I don’t think Monique would, no matter what you did. I shouldn’t worry about that, Agatha.”

“Oh, good.”

“So, are you game?” prodded Dimity, titillated at the prospect of gossip.

Agatha straightened and looked pugnacious. “I’ll do my best!”

Sophronia didn’t expect much to come of it, but Agatha did try. She began, with remarkable subtlety, to lurk among Monique’s followers. She inched her way down to that end of the table at meals. She offered to loan Monique her jewelry. Agatha had a great deal of nice jewelry, the real stuff, unlike Dimity.

Unfortunately, her reports were unsatisfactory. “The ball is all she talks of,” she kept saying, and, “When can I stop?”

Then a few evenings later, when Dimity and Sophronia were getting ready for sleep, a demure knock sounded at their door. Dimity, in her nightgown, squeaked and dove for her bed. Sophronia, still dressed, went to answer.

It was Agatha. “Sorry to disturb you so late, but… Monique’s gone.”

“What?”

“I did like you suggested and went to her room just now, pretending I wanted that necklace back. Preshea tried to hide the fact, but Monique’s not there. She’s definitely snuck off. I think it has something to do with a message she got earlier. One of the mechanicals delivered it and she went all red.”

“Oh, goodness. Thank you, Agatha!”

Agatha shuffled away. Sophronia closed the door and headed for her wardrobe.

“You’re going after her?” asked Dimity.

“Here I was, proud all this time that I was out regularly, climbing the hull, visiting sooties, and spying on teachers, not even thinking Monique might be doing the same! She had permission to be out the other night, but I never thought she was a sneak like me….”

“Be fair, she can hardly be visiting sooties.”

“Good point. Oh, none of this will work!” Sophronia slammed her wardrobe door. “I’m going to visit Sidheag. It’s time to follow Vieve’s example.”

“What…?”

Before Dimity could finish her question, Sophronia was away.

She knocked on Agatha and Sidheag’s door, hoping to be let in before Preshea noticed. When Sidheag opened it, Sophronia pushed past and closed the door quickly behind her.

“Sidheag, I need to borrow clothes.”

Sidheag blinked. “Now? It’s one in the morning.”

“So?”

“Nothing I have could possibly fit you. You’re shorter and curvier.”

“Not dresses, silly. I need boys’ clothes. I thought you might have some.”

“What?”

Agatha looked up from the vanity, where she was brushing her hair. “You’re going after her, aren’t you?”

“Yes. And if she’s climbing, I have to climb faster. It’s time to get rid of skirts. Now, Sidheag? Please hurry.”

Sidheag grinned. “How sensible of you.” She dove for her wardrobe, which was in an unholy state. The act of opening the door caused a straw bonnet, a parasol, and a patchwork goose to fall out on her head. The taller girl barely noticed, batting away hats, gloves, and a single red stocking like so many gnats. She ruffled through the contents, hurling items behind her in a deliciously enthusiastic way.

Agatha gave a whimper of distress. Her side of the room was neat as a new penny.

“Aha!” Sidheag resurfaced, triumphant, with a pair of tweed jodhpurs, of the type country squires use for hunting, and a wrinkled man’s shirt.

Agatha helped Sophronia out of her day gown and petticoats. Sophronia pulled on the trousers, buttoning the front and tucking her chemise in at the top. They were scandalously tight about the derriere. She put on the shirt, pushing up the sleeves. For the first time in her life, she was finding it easy to dress herself. Vieve might have something in this garb. But then, she supposed, that was because she was wearing a rather pedestrian outfit. True gentlemen need a valet to help with the cravat.

Sidheag gave her a funny look. “You’re leaving on your stays?”

“Of course! I haven’t lost all sense of propriety!”

Sidheag snorted. “Corsets constrict movement. I always take mine off when I wear that outfit.”

Sophronia gasped. “Bare?”

“We’ve been over this before—raised by werewolves, remember? What do you think they do before they change shape?”

Agatha gasped, then whispered softly, “You’ve seen men with no clothing?”

Sophronia tried to stop herself from blushing, remembering her illicit observation of swimming sooties.

Sidheag did not look ashamed. “Of course, silly.”

Agatha took a deep breath and then blurted, “What’s it like… when they… you know…?”

“The shape-shift? Gruesome. All the bones break and then re-form into wolf shape. Most of them howl in pain. There’s a reason it’s called a curse.”

Sidheag was going to make Agatha say it out loud. The redhead whispered, “No, what’s a man like down there?”

“Oh.” Sidheag wrinkled her nose. “Unimpressive. They have,” she gestured toward her own nether regions with one hand, “a sort of dangly sausage—lacks tailoring.”

Sophronia blinked in surprise. That sounded worse than Sidheag’s description of a werewolf shift. She hadn’t seen any of the sooties that close up. “Really?”

“Yes, like it wasn’t fitted into its casing properly. And hairy.” Sidheag was enjoying shocking them.

Agatha thought Sidheag was pulling her leg. “I don’t believe you.”

Sophronia interrupted this fascinating subject. “Ladies, thank you very much for your help. But I really must be off.” She managed a creditable bow, scuttling away before Sidheag could say anything more licentious.