Changeless

unscented, now, can we?”

“Oh.” Alexia nodded gravely. After all, Madame Lefoux was French. “Certainly not.”

Madame Lefoux pushed the shade up, revealing that the parasol was of an old-fashioned pagoda shape. “You can also turn it thus”—she flipped the parasol around so that the shade was pointing the wrong direction—“and twist and press here.” She pointed to a small nodule just above the magnetic disruption emitter, in which a tiny dial was set. “I have designed it to be quite difficult to operate, to prevent any unfortunate accidents. The rib caps of the parasol will open and emit a fine mist. At one click, these three will emit a mixture of lapis lunearis and water. At two clicks, the other three ribs will emit lapis solaris diluted in sulfuric acid. Make certain that you, and anyone you care about, stay well out of the blast area and upwind. Although the lunearis will cause only mild skin irritation, the solaris is toxic and will kill humans as well as disabling vampires.” With a sudden grin, the scientist added, “Only werewolves are resistant. The lunearis is, of course, for them. A direct spray should render the species in question helpless and gravely ill for several days. Three clicks and both will emit at once.”

“Quite outstanding, madame.” Alexia was suitably impressed. “I did not know there were any poisons capable of disabling either species.”

Madame Lefoux said mildly, “I once had access to a partial copy of the Templar’s Amended Rule.”

Lady Maccon’s mouth dropped. “You what?”

The Frenchwoman elucidated no further.

Alexia took the parasol, turning it about in her hands reverently. “I shall have to change over half my wardrobe to match it, of course. But I suspect it will be worth it.”

Madame Lefoux dimpled in pleasure. “It will also keep the sun at bay.”

Lady Maccon snorted in amusement. “As to the cost, has my husband dealt with the necessities?”

The Frenchwoman held up a small hand. “Oh, I am well aware that Woolsey can see to the expense. And I have had dealings with your pack before.”

Alexia smiled. “Professor Lyall?”

“Mainly. He is a curious man. One wonders, sometimes, as to his motivations.”

“He is not a man.”

“Just so.”

“And you?”

“I, too, am not a man. I simply enjoy dressing like one,” replied Madame Lefoux, purposefully choosing to misinterpret Alexia’s question.

“So you say,” replied Lady Maccon. Then she frowned, remembering something Ivy had said about the new hat shop: that actresses like Mabel Dair were known to frequent it. “You are dealing with the hives as well as the packs.”

“And why would you say that?”

“Miss Hisselpenny mentioned that Miss Dair visited your establishment. She is drone to the Westminster Hive.”

The Frenchwoman turned away, busying herself with tidying the laboratory. “I provide to those who can afford my services.”

“Does that include loners and roves? Have you catered to, for example, Lord Akeldama’s taste?”

“I have not yet had the pleasure,” replied the inventor.

Alexia noted that the Frenchwoman did not say that she had not heard of him.

Lady Maccon decided to meddle. “Ah, this is a grave lapse! It ought to be rectified immediately. Would you be free for tea later this evening, say around midnight? I shall consult with the gentleman in question and see if he is available.”

Madame Lefoux looked curious but wary. “I believe I could arrange to get away. How very kind of you, Lady Maccon.”

Alexia inclined her head in grand-dame fashion, feeling silly. “I shall send around a card with the address, if he is amenable.” She wanted to meet with Lord Akeldama alone first.

Just then, a new noise made itself heard through the hubbub of machinery, a querulous, high-pitched, “Alexia?”

Lady Maccon whirled about. “Oh dear, Ivy! She has not made her way down here, has she? I believe I closed the door to the ascension chamber behind me.”

Madame Lefoux looked unperturbed. “Oh, do not concern yourself. It is only her voice. I have an auditory capture and dispersal amplifier funneling sounds in from the shop.” She pointed to where a trumpet-shaped object was cabled to the ceiling. Lady Maccon had thought it some kind of gramophone. But Ivy’s voice emanated from it, as clearly as if she were in the laboratory with them. Astonishing.

“Perhaps we should return to the shop and attend her,” suggested the inventor.

Alexia, clutching her new parasol to her ample bosom like a newborn child, nodded.

They did so, to find that the gas lighting was up and running once more. And that, under the bright lights of the empty shop, Miss Hisselpenny was still reposing on the floor, but now seated upright and looking pale and confused.

“What happened?” she demanded as Lady Maccon and Madame Lefoux approached.

“There was a loud bang, and you fainted,” replied Alexia. “Really, Ivy, if you did not lace your corset so tight, you would not be so prone to the vapors. It is reputed to be terribly bad for your health.”

Miss Hisselpenny gasped at the mention of underclothing in a public hat shop. “Please, Alexia, do not spout such radical folderol. Next thing, you will want me to engage in dress reform!”

Lady Maccon rolled her eyes. The very idea: Ivy in bloomers!

“What have you got there?” Miss Hisselpenny asked, focusing on the parasol Lady Maccon clasped to her chest.

Alexia crouched down to show the parasol to her friend.

“Why, Alexia, that is quite beautiful. It does not reflect your customary taste at all,” approved Miss Hisselpenny with glee.

Trust Ivy to like the hideous thing for its looks.

Miss Hisselpenny glanced eagerly up at the Frenchwoman. “I should like one just like it, in perhaps a nice lemon yellow with black and white stripes. Would you have such an item to hand?”

Alexia giggled at Madame Lefoux’s shocked expression.

“I should think not,” the inventor croaked out finally, having cleared her throat twice. “Should I”—she winced slightly—“order you one?”

“Please do.”

Alexia stood and said softly in French, “Perhaps without the additional garnishing.”

“Mmm,” replied Madame Lefoux.

A little bell chimed cheerfully as someone new wandered into the shop. Miss Hisselpenny struggled to rise from her undignified lounge upon the floor.

The newcomer approached them, parting the forest of dangling hats and, upon seeing Ivy’s plight, leaped to her aid.

“Why, Miss Hisselpenny, are you unwell? Let me offer my most humble services.”

“Tunstell,” interjected Alexia, glaring at the young man. “What are you doing here?”

The redheaded claviger ignored her, cooing over Miss Hisselpenny solicitously.

Ivy attained her feet and clutched at his arm, leaning against his side weakly and looking up at him out of big dark eyes.

Tunstell seemed to be taking a long, leisurely swim in those eyes, like some sort of gormless guppy.

Actors, the lot of them. Alexia poked at his bottom, nicely packaged in some excessively tight britches, with the tip of her new parasol. “Tunstell, explain your presence at once.”

Tunstell jumped slightly and looked at her in a maltreated manner.