Timeless

CHAPTER FOUR Several Unexpected Occurrences and Tea

“It’s Asphodel, My Queen. Riding accident.”

The vampire queen made a beckoning motion with two fingers. “Bring her to me.”

The three carried the drone over to her mistress. The girl’s breathing was shallow, and she did not move.

“Dead drones are so inconvenient. Not to mention the hassle in finding an adequately fit, able, and attractive replacement.”

“I think you should try for the bite, My Queen.”

Countess Nadasdy looked at her vampire companion skeptically. “You do, do you, Doctor? I suppose it has been a while since I took the gamble.”

The door crashed open once more and Mabel Dair appeared in the aperture, resplendent in a bronze riding gown with red trim. The actress swept into the room. “How is she?”

Miss Dair sashayed across the thick carpet and cast herself forward to kneel on the floor next to Countess Nadasdy and the injured drone. “Oh, poor Asphodel!”

Alexia had to give the actress credit for a moving performance.

Madame Lefoux stepped forward and bent to press Miss Dair’s shoulders soothingly. “Come away, chérie. There’s nothing we can do for her now.”

Mabel allowed herself to be gentled into a standing position and away from the hive queen. “Oh, you will try, please, won’t you, mistress? Asphodel is such a sweet girl.”

The queen wrinkled her nose and looked back down. “I suppose she is quite pretty. Very well, bring me my sippy goblet.”

Dr. Caedes sprang into action. “At once, My Queen!” He vanished from the room.

While they waited for him to return, Alexia turned to the new arrivals. “Good evening, Madame Lefoux. Miss Dair.”

“Lady Maccon, how do you do?” replied the actress. Hands were clasped to her trembling bosom, and the bulk of her attention was still centered on the dying girl.

Madame Lefoux merely tipped her head in Alexia’s direction and gave her a small, tight smile. Then she returned her attention to the actress, placing a solicitous arm about the woman’s waist.

Dr. Caedes returned, bearing a small silver goblet with some kind of lid attached to the top. It looked like those cup attachments designed for gentlemen with mustaches. He passed it to the queen, who took it in one hand.

“Prepare the girl.”

Dr. Caedes grabbed the comatose woman by the shoulders and shifted her into his mistress’s lap. His supernatural strength made the task an easy one, even had the girl not been relatively slight. He turned her head so that she rested with the side of her neck exposed.

The queen took a drink from the goblet, swished the contents around in her mouth, and paused, an intense look of contemplation on her face. Then Countess Nadasdy bared her teeth, both the longer regular fangs, the feeders, and the smaller fangs to either side, the makers. Alexia wasn’t quite certain on the logistics of vampire metamorphosis. They were secretive about the details, and rarely were scientists, save their own, permitted to observe. But she knew the current theory held that feeders sucked the blood out while makers pumped blood in, so metamorphosis occurred by process of the queen literally giving her own blood over to the new vampire.

The countess opened her mouth wide. The makers were dripping perfect drops of dark blood, almost black. Alexia wondered if the contents of the sippy goblet acted as a catalyst.

Dr. Caedes bent and looked into his queen’s mouth. “I believe we may proceed, My Queen.”

Lady Maccon could only hope that the vampire metamorphosis process was less brutal than the werewolves. Her husband had practically eaten Lady Kingair whole in order to change her. It was most indelicate. The last thing Alexia wanted was to witness the vampire version of a three-course meal.

“Should we be watching this? Isn’t unbirth a matter for family intimates only?” Alexia asked Major Channing on a hiss.

“I think we are remaining as witnesses apurpose, my lady. She wants to prove her strength.” The major seemed not at all perturbed by the prospect.

“Does she? Why? Did I look as though I doubted it?”

“No. But our Alpha has managed two successful metamorphoses in the past three years. That has got to smart something awful for the vampires.”

“You mean, I have stumbled into some kind of eternal tiddlywinks match? Who can make the most immortals? What are you people, schoolroom children?”

Major Channing tilted his hands, palms up, in supplication.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” said Alexia, and then hushed, for the countess was biting down at last.

It was a good deal more elegant than with the werewolves at first. Countess Nadasdy sank her feeder fangs deep into the flesh of the girl’s neck and then kept going until she was far enough in for the maker fangs to sink in as well. She cradled both arms about the woman and leaned back so that she was held up to her mouth like a tea sandwich. The girl’s slack white face tilted toward the small audience. Countess Nadasdy closed her eyes, assuming an expression of ecstatic bliss. She moved not one muscle, except that Alexia could see a strange up and down fluttering in her neck, like a cow regurgitating its cud, only faster, smaller, and in both directions.

Asphodel remained limp in her mistress’s arms for a long while, until her whole body jerked—once. Alexia jumped in reaction, as did Major Channing. Madame Lefoux gave them both a quelling look.

Asphodel’s eyes popped open, wide, startled, looking directly at the observers. Then she began to scream. It was a deep, drawn-out cry of agony. Her pupils dilated, darkening and changing color, extending outward until her entire eyeball was a solid deep red.

The girl’s eyes began to bleed. Drops of blood leaked out, running down the sides of her face and dripping off her nose. Her screams became gargles as blood began to pour out of her mouth, muffling the cries.

Dr. Caedes said, “Enough, My Queen. It isn’t taking. There will be no making this one over.”

The hive queen only continued to suck, her expression beatific. Her arms were beginning to lose their hold, however, and she was sagging over the girl.

Dr. Caedes stepped forward and ripped Asphodel off of his queen’s fangs. Under normal circumstances, Alexia suspected he would not have been able to do so. All vampires were strong, but queens were reputed to be the strongest of them all. However, the countess’s beautiful eyes, when they finally opened, were sunken with exhaustion.

Dr. Caedes yanked the maid from the countess’s grasp and threw her to the floor like a used dishrag. The girl convulsed one final time and stilled.

Alexia went to bend over her solicitously, careful not to touch her in case, somehow, this was all as it was meant to be, and preternatural contact might interfere with the process of metamorphosis. The girl, however, was motionless. Lady Maccon looked up from her crouch at Major Channing. The werewolf shook his blond head.

Dr. Caedes spoke into the shocked quiet of the Blue Room. “My Queen, it did not take. You need to feed and restore your strength. Please, put the makers away. I will call in the drones.”

Countess Nadasdy turned an unfocused gaze onto her vampire companion. “Didn’t it work? Another one gone. How unfortunate. I shall have to buy a new dress, then.” She looked around, catching sight of the fallen girl and Lady Maccon bent over her. She laughed. “There’s nothing you can do, soul-sucker.”

Alexia stood, feeling queasy.

There was blood everywhere. Soaked into the countess’s green gown, splattered across the cream and blue carpet, and pooling under the body of the unfortunate girl. It was really more than any lady should have to tolerate when making a social call.

Dr. Caedes gestured Mabel Dair forward. “See to your mistress, Miss Dair.”

“Certainly, Doctor. At once.” Mabel ran to the countess, her golden curls bouncing, and offered up her wrist.

Dr. Caedes followed, reaching around to support his queen’s head. “Now remember, only feeders. You are weak, My Queen.”

Countess Nadasdy drank for a long time from the actress’s wrist, everyone watching in silence. Mabel Dair stood still and quiet in her beautiful bronze dress, but soon the rose bloom on her perfect round cheeks began to fade.

Dr. Caedes said gently, “Enough, My Queen.”

Countess Nadasdy did not stop.

Madame Lefoux strode forward. Her movements were angular and sharp under the impeccable cut of her evening jacket. She grabbed Miss Dair’s arm above the wrist and jerked it off the vampire queen’s teeth, causing both women to gasp in surprise.

“He said enough.”

The countess glared at the Frenchwoman. “Don’t you dare dictate to me, drone.”

“Haven’t you had sufficient blood for one evening?” The inventor gestured with her hand at the body and the mess that resulted.

Countess Nadasdy licked her lips. “And yet, I am still hungry.”

The Frenchwoman lurched away. Dr. Caedes stopped her by placing his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t want the queen to take from Miss Dair anymore, do you, Madame Lefoux? Offering yourself in her place, are you? That’s very generous. Especially considering how cautious you have been with your blood since you came to us.”

Madame Lefoux pushed her hair back behind her ears, defiantly. She’d let it grow longer since becoming a drone, but it was still too short for a woman. She offered up her wrist without protest. The countess sank in her fangs. Madame Lefoux looked away.

“Perhaps the major and I should make our farewells,” suggested Alexia, uncomfortable witnessing Genevieve’s pretend disinterest. At which juncture they did, leaving Madame Lefoux dismissive, Mabel Dair drained, Dr. Cedes distracted, and the countess still at tea.

Fenchurch Street wasn’t Alexia’s favorite station. It was too close to the London Docks and, of course, the Tower of London. There was something about the Tower, with all its ghosts that would not be exorcized, that gave her the squirms. It was as if they were dinner guests who had overstayed their welcome.

Lady Maccon and Major Channing alighted. It was the quietest time of the night, so there were no porters to be found. Lady Maccon sat in the first-class waiting room alone, impatient, while Major Channing went to see about a hackney.

A man unlike any Alexia had ever encountered burst in through the door just after Channing vanished out of sight. Alexia knew there were such people about London, but not in her part of the city! His hair was long and shaggy. His face was sunburned like that of a sailor. His beard was ferocious and untended. However, Alexia did not fear him, for the man appeared to be in a state of extreme distress, and he knew her name.

“Lady Maccon! Lady Maccon.”

He spoke with a Scottish accent. His voice was vaguely familiar, for all that it was faint and cracked. For the life of her, Alexia couldn’t place that gaunt, cooked-lobster face, not under all that unkempt.

She looked down her nose at the man. “Do I know you, sir?”

“Yes, my lady. Dubh.” He cracked a weak smile. “I’m a mite different from when you saw me last.”

The werewolf could not be but understating the case. Dubh had not been a particularly handsome or agreeable man, but now he was positively unsightly. A Scotsman, to be sure, and Alexia acknowledged her preferences seemed to lean in that direction. In the past, the man had not behaved much to Alexia’s taste, having engaged in a bout of fisticuffs with Conall that destroyed most of a dining room and an entire plate of meringues. “Why, Mr. Dubh, what has brought about such a need for the barber? Are you unwell? Have you been the victim of an anarchist outrage?”

Alexia made to move over to him, for he had propped himself against the jamb of the door and seemed likely to slide right down it and fold up upon the floor.

“No, my lady, I beg you. I could not stand your touch.”

“But, my dear sir, let me summon help. You have been much missed. Your Alpha is here in London looking for you. I could send Major Channing to fetch—”

“No, please, my lady, only listen. I have waited to catch you alone. ’Tis a matter for you alone. Your household… your household is nae safe. It is nae contained.”

“Do go on.”

“Your da… what he did… in Egypt. You need tae stop it.”

“What? What did he do?”

“The mummies, my lady, they—”

A gunshot fired clear and sharp in the silence of the station. Lady Maccon cried out as a bloom of red blood appeared on Dubh’s chest. The Beta looked utterly surprised, raising both hands to cup over the wound.

He pitched forward, facedown, showing that he had been shot in the back.

Alexia clasped her hands together and willed herself to stay away, although all her instincts urged her to help the injured man. She yelled out at the very top of her lungs, “Major Channing, Major Channing, come quickly! Something untoward has occurred.”

The Gamma came dashing in using speed only supernaturals could achieve. He immediately crouched over the fallen werewolf.

He sniffed. “Kingair Pack? The missing Beta? But what is he doing here? I thought he went missing in Egypt.”

“It appears he recently returned. Look—beard, tan, loss of flesh. He’s been mortal for some length of time. Only one thing does that to a werewolf.”

“The God-Breaker Plague.”

“Can you think of a better explanation? Except, of course, that he is back here, in the country. He should be a werewolf once more.”

“Oh, he is, or I wouldn’t be able to smell the pack in him,” answered Major Channing with confidence. “He’s not mortal, only very, very weak.”

“Then he’s not dead?”

“Not yet. We’d better get him home and the bullet out or he might well be. Take care, my lady. The assailant may still be out there. I should go first.”

“But,” said Alexia, “I have Ethel.” She withdrew the small gun from her reticule and cocked it.

Major Channing rolled his eyes.

“Onward!” Alexia trotted out of the waiting room, eyes alert for movement in the shadows, gun at the ready.

Nothing happened.

They made it to the waiting hackney easily. Major Channing offered the driver triple the fare for double the speed. They would have made it back home in record time had there not been a fire in Cheapside that caused them to double back and go around.

Once home, a single yell from Lady Maccon brought all the werewolves and clavigers running. It was getting near to dawn, so the house was full, clavigers waking up and werewolves preparing for bed. The injured Kingair Beta caused quite a hubbub. He was taken carefully inside and into the back parlor, while runners were sent to BUR to fetch Lord Maccon and Lady Kingair.

Dubh was looking worse, his breath rasped. Alexia was genuinely concerned for his survival. She sat down on the couch opposite, feeling utterly ineffectual, as she could not even pat his hand or wipe his brow.

Floote appeared at her elbow. “Trouble, madam?”

“Oh, Floote, yes. Where have you been? Do you know anything that could help?”

“Help, madam?”

“He’s been shot.”

“We should try to get the bullet out, madam, in case it is silver.”

“Oh, yes, of course, do you—”

“I’m afraid not, madam, but I will send for a surgeon directly.”

“Progressive?”

“Naturally, madam.”

“Very good. Please do.”

Floote nodded to a young claviger who jumped eagerly forward, and the butler gave him the address of a physician.

“Perhaps, madam, a little air for the invalid?”

“Of course! Clear the room, please, gentlemen.”

All the worried-looking clavigers and werewolves filed out. Floote walked quietly off and returned moments later with tea.

They sat in silence, watching as Dubh’s breathing became fainter. Their reverie was interrupted by a clatter at the door, indicating Lord Maccon had returned.

Alexia hurried to meet her husband.

“Alexia, are you unwell?”

“Of course not. Did the runner explain what has transpired?”

“Dubh appeared, found you at the train station, tried to tell you something, and was shot.”

“Yes, that’s about the whole of it.”

“Dashed inconvenient.”

Lady Kingair pushed up next to her great-great-great-grandfather. “How is he?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. We have done what we can, and a surgeon has been sent for. Follow me.” Alexia led the way into the back parlor.

They entered to find Floote bent over the injured man. The butler’s normally impassive face was creased with worry. He looked up as they burst in and shook his head.

“No!” cried Lady Kingair, her voice ringing in distress. She shoved the butler aside to bend over her Beta. “Oh, no, Dubh.”

The werewolf was dead.

Lady Kingair began to weep. Full shaking sobs, the grief of an old friend and longtime companion.

Alexia turned away from such naked emotion to find her husband’s face also suffused with sorrow. She forgot that Dubh had been a part of his pack as well. Not so close as a Beta back then, but still, werewolves lived a long time and pack members were always valued. There had been no love lost personality-wise, but a dead immortal was never to be taken lightly. It was a tragedy of lost information, like the burning of the Library of Alexandria.

Alexia went to Conall and held him close, wrapping her arms tightly about him, not caring that others could see. Taking charge of the situation—everyone needed a hobby and that was Alexia’s—she guided her husband gently to a large armchair and saw him seated. She sent Floote for a dram of formaldehyde and directed a claviger to fetch Professor Lyall. Then she made her way out into the hall to confirm what the waiting werewolves had already guessed from Lady Kingair’s cry—that they had lost one of their own.