Changeless

“I have a message from Professor Lyall,” he said, as though she were somehow to blame for this.

Lady Maccon did not ask how Lyall had known she would be at Chapeau de Poupe. The ways of her husband’s Beta were often mysterious and better left unquestioned.

“Well?”

Tunstell was staring once more into Miss Hisselpenny’s eyes.

Alexia tapped the parasol on the wooden floor, enjoying the metallic clicking noise it made. “The message.”

“He requests for you to visit with him at BUR as a matter of some urgency,” said Tunstell without looking at her.

A matter of urgency was pack code for activation of Lady Maccon as muhjah. Lyall had some information for the Crown. Alexia nodded. “In that case, Ivy, you would not mind if I left you under Tunstell’s care while you complete your shopping? He will see you safely off. Won’t you, Tunstell?”

“It would be my very great pleasure.” Tunstell beamed.

“Oh, I believe that would suit adequately,” breathed Ivy, smiling back.

Lady Maccon wondered if she had ever been so foolish over Lord Maccon. Then she recalled that her affection generally took the form of threats and verbal barbs. She gave herself a pat on the back for avoiding sentimentality.

The inventor-cum-milliner walked her to the front door.

“I shall send a card around presently when I determine Lord Akeldama’s availability. He should be at home, but you never can tell with roves. This summons from Professor Lyall cannot possibly take long.” Alexia looked back at Tunstell and Ivy, engaged in an overly familiar tête-à-tête. “Please, do try to prevent Miss Hisselpenny from purchasing anything too hideous, and see that Tunstell puts her into a hackney but does not get into it himself.”

“I shall do my level best, Lady Maccon,” replied Madame Lefoux with an abbreviated bow—so short as to be almost rude. Then, in a quick-fire movement, she caught one of Alexia’s hands with her own. “It was a great pleasure to meet you at last, my lady.” Her grip was firm and sure. Of course, lifting and building all that machinery below street level would give anyone a certain degree of musculature, even the rail-thin woman before her. The inventor’s fingers caressed Alexia’s wrist just above the perfect fit of her gloves, so quickly that Alexia was not certain the action had occurred. There was that faint scent of vanilla mixed with gear oil once more. Then Madame Lefoux smiled, dropped Alexia’s hand, and turned back into the shop, disappearing among the swinging jungle of fashionable headgear.

Professor Lyall and Lord Maccon shared an office at BUR headquarters, on Fleet Street, but it was always considerably cleaner whenever the earl was not in residence. Lady Alexia Maccon breezed in, swinging her new parasol proudly and hoping Lyall would ask about it. But Professor Lyall was mightily distracted behind a pile of paperwork and a stack of metal scrolls with acid-etched notes upon them. He stood, bowed, and sat back down again as a matter of course rather than courtesy. Whatever had occurred was clearly occupying all of his considerable attention. His glassicals were perched upon his head, mussing his coiffure. Was it possible that his cravat could be minutely askew?

“Are you well, Professor Lyall?” Alexia asked, quite worried by the cravat.

“I am in perfect health, thank you for asking, Lady Maccon. It is your husband who concerns me, and I have no way to get through to him at present.”

“Yes,” said the earl’s wife, deadpan, “I daily face a similar dilemma, frequently when he and I are in conversation. What has he gone and done now?”

Professor Lyall smiled slightly. “Oh no, nothing like that. It is simply that the plague of humanization has struck again, moving northward as far as Farthinghoe.”

Alexia frowned at this new information. “Curious. It is on the move, is it?”

“And heading in the same direction as Lord Maccon. Though slightly ahead of him.”

“And he doesn’t know that, does he?”

Lyall shook his head.

“That family matter, it’s the dead Alpha, isn’t it?”

Lyall ignored this and said, “Don’t know quite how it’s moving so fast. The trains have been down since yesterday—strike. Trust the daylight folk to become inefficient at a time like this.”

“By coach, perhaps?”

“Could be. It seems to be moving quickly. I should like to make the earl aware of this information, but there is no way to contact him until he arrives at the Glasgow offices. Not to mention Channing’s blather about the boat ride over. This thing is mobile and Conall doesn’t know that.”

“You think he might overtake it?”

The Beta shook his head again. “Not at the rate it is moving. Lord Maccon is fast, but he said he was not going to push this run. If it keeps traveling north at the rate I predict, it will hit Scotland several days before he does. I have sent a note to our agents in the north, but I thought you should know as well, as muhjah.”

Alexia nodded.

“Will you inform the other members of the Shadow Council?”

Lady Maccon frowned at that. “I do not think that is entirely wise just yet. I think it might wait until our next meeting. You should file a report, of course, but I shall not go out of my way to tell the potentate and the dewan.”

The Beta nodded and did not inquire as to her reasons.

“Very well, Professor Lyall. If there is nothing else, I should be off. I have need of Lord Akeldama’s council.”

Professor Lyall gave her an unreadable look. “Well, I suppose someone must. Good evening, Lady Maccon.”

Alexia left without ever having shown Professor Lyall her new parasol.

CHAPTER FIVE Lord Akeldama’s Latest

Lord Akeldama was indeed in residence and willing to receive Alexia. Despite the rudeness of her unannounced visit, he seemed genuinely pleased to see her. It was difficult to tell through the vampire’s self-consciously frivolous mannerisms, but Alexia thought she detected real warmth beneath the flatterings and flutterings.

The ancient vampire sashayed forward to greet her, both arms extended, dressed in his version of the “casual gentleman at home.” For most men of means and taste, this meant a smoking jacket, opera scarf, long trousers, and soft-soled derbies. For Lord Akeldama, this meant that the jacket was of pristine white silk with black embroidered birds of some lean oriental persuasion splashed about, the scarf a bright peacock-patterned teal, the trousers the latest in tight-fitting black jacquard, and the shoes cut in a flashy wingtip style with a black and white spectator coloration that was held by many to be rather vulgar.

“My darling Alexia. How fortuitous. I have just received delivery of the most divine new plaything. You must take a gander and give me your expert opinion!” Lord Akeldama addressed Lady Maccon by her given name and had done so since the night they met. And yet, Alexia realized for the first time as she took his hands in a firm grip, she had no idea what his was.

At the preternatural contact, Lord Akeldama turned from supernaturally beautiful, his skin ice white and his blond hair shining gold, to the merely pretty young man he had once been before his metamorphosis.

Lady Maccon kissed him softly on both cheeks, as though he were a child. “And how are you this evening, my lord?”

He leaned against her, momentarily calm in his fully human state, before resuming his animated chatter. “Perfectly splendid, my little tea biscuit, perfectly splendid. There is a mystery waffling about London town, and I am immersed in the thick of it. You know how I do so dearly