The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (5 page)

“Indeed,” replied Alexia crisply, a bit put off by the woman's brash and familiar tone. “Have we met?” she inquired pointedly.

The lady laughed, a mellow tinkling sound. “I am Miss Mabel Dair, and now we have.”

Alexia decided she must be dealing with
an original
.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she replied cautiously. “Miss Dair, might I introduce Miss Ivy Hisselpenny?”

Ivy bobbed a curtsy, at the same time tugging on Alexia's velvet-trimmed sleeve. “The
actress,
” she hissed in Alexia's ear. “You know! Oh, I say, Alexia, you really must know.”

Miss Tarabotti, who did not know, surmised that she ought to. “Oh,” she said blankly, and then quietly to Ivy, “Should we
be talking to an actress in the middle of Hyde Park?” She glanced covertly at the disembarking dirigible passengers. No one
was paying them any notice.

Miss Hisselpenny hid a smile under one gloved hand. “This from the woman who last night accidentally”—she paused—“parasoled
a man. I should think that talking to an actress in public would be the least of your worries.”

Miss Dair's bright blue eyes followed this exchange. She laughed again. “That incident, my dears, would be the reason for
this rather discourteous meeting.”

Alexia and Ivy were surprised that she knew what they were whispering about.

“You must forgive my brazenness and this intrusion on your private confidences.”

“Must we?” wondered Alexia under her breath.

Ivy elbowed her in the ribs.

Miss Dair explained herself at last. “You see, my mistress would like to visit with you, Miss Tarabotti.”

“Your mistress?”

The actress nodded, blond ringlets bouncing. “Oh, I know they do not normally go in for the bolder artistic types. Actresses,
I am under the impression, tend to become clavigers, since werewolves are far more intrigued by the performing arts.”

Miss Tarabotti realized what was going on. “My goodness, you are a drone!”

Miss Dair smiled and nodded her acknowledgment. She had dimples as well as ringlets, most distressing.

Alexia was still very confused. Drones were vampire companions, servants, and caretakers who were paid with the possibility
of eventually becoming immortal themselves. But vampires rarely chose drones from among those who occupied the limelight.
They preferred a more behind-the-scenes approach to soul hunting: recruiting painters, poets, sculptors, and the like. The
flashier side of creativity was universally acknowledged werewolf territory, who chose thespians, opera singers, and ballet
dancers to become clavigers. Of course, both supernatural sets preferred the artistic element in a companion, for there was
always a better chance of excess soul in a creative person and therefore a higher likelihood that he or she would survive
metamorphosis. But for a vampire to choose an actress was rather unusual.

“But you are a woman!” objected Miss Hisselpenny, shocked. An even more well-known fact about drones or clavigers was that
they tended to be male. Women were much less likely to survive being turned. No one knew why, though scientists suggested
the female's weaker constitution.

The actress smiled. “Not all drones are after eternal life, you realize? Some of us just enjoy the patronage. I have no particular
interest in becoming supernatural, but my mistress provides for me in many other ways. Speaking of which, are you free this
evening, Miss Tarabotti?”

Alexia finally recovered from her surprise and frowned. She had no concrete plans, but she did not want to go into a vampire
hive uninformed. So she said firmly, “Unfortunately, I am unavailable tonight.” She made a quick decision to send her card
round to Lord Akeldama, requesting he stop by for dinner. He might be able to fill her in on some of the local hive activities.
Lord Akeldama liked perfumed handkerchiefs and pink neckties, but he also liked to
know things
.

“Tomorrow night, then?” The actress looked hopeful. This request must be particularly important to her mistress.

Alexia dipped her head in agreement. The long cascade feather on her felt hat tickled the back of her neck. “Where am I expected
to go?”

Miss Dair leaned forward from her box seat, keeping a steady hand to her frisky horses, and handed Alexia a small sealed envelope.
“I must ask you not to share the address with anyone. My apologies, Miss Hisselpenny. You understand the delicacy of the situation,
I am sure.”

Ivy held up her hands placatingly and blushed delicately. “No offense taken, Miss Dair. This entire affair is none of my concern.”
Even Ivy knew better than to ask questions of hive business.

“For whom do I inquire?” asked Miss Tarabotti, turning the envelope about in her hands but not opening it.

“Countess Nadasdy.”

That was a name Alexia knew. Countess Nadasdy was purported to be one of the oldest living vampires, incredibly beautiful,
impossibly cruel, and extremely polite. She was queen of the Westminster Hive. Lord Maccon might have learned to play the
social game with aplomb, but Countess Nadasdy was its master.

Miss Tarabotti looked long and hard at the bubbly blond actress. “You have hidden depths, Miss Dair.” Alexia was not supposed
to know many of the things that went on in Countess Nadasdy's circle, let alone her hive, but she read too much. Many of the
books in the Loontwills' library were left over from her father's day. Alessandro Tarabotti had clearly felt a strong inclination
toward literature concerning the supernatural, so Alexia had a tolerably clear concept of what occurred in a vampire hive.
Miss Dair certainly must be something more than blond curls, dimples, and a perfectly-turned-out rose dress.

Miss Dair bobbed her ringlets at them. “Whatever the gossip columns may say, Countess Nadasdy is a good mistress.” Her smile
was slightly quirky. “If you like that sort of thing. It has been delightful to meet you ladies.” She tightened the reins
to her blacks and snapped them smartly. The phaeton jerked forward sharply on the uneven grass, but Miss Dair maintained a
perfect seat. In mere moments, the high flyer was gone, rattling down the footpath and disappearing behind the small coppice
of birch trees.

The two girls followed, the airship in all its technological glory having suddenly lost its appeal. Other more exciting events
were afoot. They walked a little more slowly, conversing in a subdued manner. Alexia turned the small envelope around in her
hands.

The jaunt through Hyde Park appeared to be doing the trick as far as Alexia's prickly feelings were concerned. All of her
anger at Lord Maccon had dissipated to be replaced by apprehension.

Ivy looked pale. Well, paler than usual. Finally she pointed to the sealed envelope Alexia was fiddling with nervously. “You
know what that is?”

Miss Tarabotti swallowed. “Of course I know.” But she said it so quietly Ivy did not really hear her.

“You have been given the actual address of a hive, Alexia. They are either going to recruit you or drain you dry. No daylight
humans but drones are allowed to have that kind of information.”

Alexia looked uncomfortable. “I know!” She was wondering how a hive might react to a preternatural in their midst. Not very
kindly, she suspected. She worried her lower lip. “I simply must speak with Lord Akeldama.”

Miss Hisselpenny looked, if possible, even more worried. “Oh really, must you? He is so very outrageous.”
Outrageous
was a very good way of describing Lord Akeldama. Alexia was not afraid of outrageousness any more than she was afraid of
vampires, which was good because Lord Akeldama was both.

He minced into the room, teetering about on three-inch heels with ruby and gold buckles. “My darling,
darling
Alexia.” Lord Akeldama had adopted use of her given name within minutes of their first meeting. He had said that he just
knew they would be friends, and there was no point in prevaricating. “
Darling
!” He also seemed to speak predominantly in italics. “How perfectly, deliciously,
delightful
of you to invite
me
to dinner.
Darling.
”

Miss Tarabotti smiled at him. It was impossible not to grin at Lord Akeldama; his attire was so consistently absurd. In addition
to the heels, he wore yellow checked gaiters, gold satin breeches, an orange and lemon striped waistcoat, and an evening jacket
of sunny pink brocade. His cravat was a frothy flowing waterfall of orange, yellow, and pink Chinese silk, barely contained
by a magnificently huge ruby pin. His ethereal face was powdered quite unnecessarily, for he was already completely pale,
a predilection of his kind. He sported round spots of pink blush on each cheek like a Punch and Judy puppet. He also affected
a gold monocle, although, like all vampires, he had perfect vision.

With fluid poise, he settled himself on the settee opposite Alexia, a small neatly laid supper table between them.

Miss Tarabotti had decided to host him, much to her mother's chagrin, alone in her private drawing room. Alexia tried to explain
that the vampire's supposed inability to enter private residences uninvited was a myth based upon their collective obsession
with proper social etiquette, but her mother refused to believe her. After some minor hysterics, Mrs. Loontwill thought better
of her objections to the arrangement. Realizing that the event would occur whether she willed it or no, Alexia being assertive—Italian
blood—she hastily took the two younger girls and Squire Loontwill off to an evening card party at Lady Blingchester's. Mrs.
Loontwill was very good at operating on the theory that what she did not know could not hurt her, particularly regarding Alexia
and the supernatural.

So Alexia had the house to herself, and Lord Akeldama's entrance was appreciated by no one more important than Floote, the
Loontwills' long-suffering butler. This caused Lord Akeldama distress, for he sat so dramatically and posed with such grace,
that he clearly anticipated a much larger audience.

The vampire took out a scented handkerchief and bopped Miss Tarabotti playfully on the shoulder with it. “I hear, my little
sugarplum, that you were a naughty,
naughty
girl at the duchess's ball last night.”

Lord Akeldama might look and act like a supercilious buffoon of the highest order, but he had one of the sharpest minds in
the whole of London. The
Morning Post
would pay half its weekly income for the kind of information he seemed to have access to at any time of night. Alexia privately
suspected him of having drones among the servants in every major household, not to mention ghost spies tethered to key public
institutions.

Miss Tarabotti refused to give her guest the satisfaction of asking how he knew of the previous evening's episode. Instead
she smiled in what she hoped was an enigmatic manner and poured the champagne.

Lord Akeldama never drank anything but champagne. Well, that is to say, except when he was drinking blood. He was reputed
to have once said that the best drink in existence was a blending of the two, a mix he referred to fondly as a Pink Slurp.

“You know why I invited you over, then?” Alexia asked instead, offering him a cheese swizzle.

Lord Akeldama waved a limp wrist about dismissively before taking the swizzle and nibbling its tip. “La, my dearest
girl,
you invited me because you could not
bear
to be without my company a single
moment
longer. And I shall be cut to the very quick of my extensive soul if your reason is
anything
else.”

Miss Tarabotti waved a hand at the butler. Floote issued her a look of mild disapproval and vanished in search of the first
course.

“That is, naturally, exactly why I invited you. Besides which I am certain you missed me just as much, as we have not seen
each other in an age. I am convinced that your visit has absolutely nothing to do with an avid curiosity as to how I managed
to kill a vampire yesterday evening,” she said mildly.

Lord Akeldama held up a hand. “A moment please, my dear.” Then he reached into a waistcoat pocket and produced a small spiky
device. It looked like two tuning forks sunk into a faceted crystal. He flicked the first fork with his thumbnail, waited
a moment, and then flicked the second. The two made a dissonant, low-pitched strumming sound, like the hum of two different
kinds of bee arguing, that seemed to be amplified by the crystal. He placed the device carefully in the center of the table,
where it continued to hum away discordantly. It was not entirely irritating but seemed like it might grow to be.

“One gets accustomed to it after a while,” explained Lord Akeldama apologetically.

“What is it?” wondered Alexia.

“That little gem is a harmonic auditory resonance disruptor. One of my boys picked it up in gay Paris recently. Charming,
isn't it?”

“Yes, but what does it do?” Alexia wanted to know.

“Not much in this room, but if anyone is trying to listen in from a distance with, say, an ear trumpet or other eavesdropping
device, it creates a kind of screaming sound that results in the most tremendous headache. I tested it.”

“Remarkable,” said Alexia, impressed despite herself. “Are we likely to be saying things people might want to overhear?”

“Well, we were discussing how you managed to kill a vampire, were we not? And while I know
exactly
how you did it,
petal,
you may not want the rest of the world to know as well.”

Alexia was affronted. “Oh really, and how did I do it?”

Lord Akeldama laughed, showing off a set of particularly white and particularly sharp fangs. “Oh, princess.” In one of those
lightning-fast movements that only the best athletes or a supernatural person could execute, he grabbed her free hand. His
deadly fangs vanished. The ethereal beauty in his face became ever so slightly too effeminate, and his strength dissipated.
“
This
is how.”