Changeless

not manage to get it down nearly so low as the claviger had, but it was eventually quiet enough.

Lord Akeldama’s response began to appear inside the black magnetic particulates between the two pieces of glass, one letter at a time. Trying to breathe quietly, Alexia copied down the message. It was short, cryptic, and totally unhelpful.

“Preternaturals always cremated,” was all it said. Then there was some kind of image, a circle on top of a cross. Some kind of code? That was rich! Blast Lord Akeldama for being coy at a time like this!

Alexia waited another half an hour, past midnight, for any additional communication, and when nothing further materialized, she turned the aethographor off and left in a huff.

The house was abuzz. In the main drawing room across from the front parlor, in which remained Tunstell and his charges, a cheery fire burned in the fireplace and maids and footmen bustled about setting out artifacts.

“Good gracious, you did do a little shopping in Alexandria, now, didn’t you?”

Lady Kingair looked up from the small mummy she was arranging carefully on a side table. It appeared to have started life as some kind of animal, perhaps of the feline persuasion? “We do what we must. The regimental pay isna adequate to cover Kingair’s upkeep. Why should we not collect?”

Lady Maccon began looking through all the artifacts, not quite certain what she was looking for. There were little wooden statues of people, necklaces of turquoise and lapis, strange stone jars with animal-head lids, and amulets. All of them were relatively small except for two mummies, both still properly clothed. These were more impressive than the one they had unwrapped. They resided inside curvy, beautifully painted coffins, the surfaces of which were covered in colorful images and hieroglyphics. Cautiously, Alexia moved toward them but felt no overwhelming repulsion. None of the artifacts, mummies included, seemed any different from those she had seen on display in the halls of the Royal Society or, indeed, in the Museum of Antiquities.

She looked suspiciously at Lady Kingair. “Are there no others?”

“Only the entertainment mummy we unwrapped, still upstairs.”

Lady Maccon frowned. “Did they all come from the same seller? Were they all looted from the same tomb? Did he say?”

Lady Kingair took offense. “They are all legal. I have the paperwork.”

Alexia sucked her teeth. “I am certain you do. But I understand very well how the antiquities system works in Egypt these days.”

Sidheag looked like she would like to take umbrage at that, but Alexia continued. “Regardless, their origins?”

Frowning, Lady Kingair said, “All different places.”

Lady Maccon sighed. “I will want to see the other mummy again in just a moment, but first…” Her stomach went queasy at the very idea. It was so uncomfortable, to be in the same room with that thing. She turned to look at the rest of the Kingair Pack, who were milling about looking unsure of themselves, large men in skirts with scruffy faces and lost expressions. For a moment Alexia softened. Then she remembered her husband, comatose in another room. “None of you purchased anything privately that you are not telling me about? Things will go dreadfully ill for you if you did”—she looked directly at Dubh—“and I find out later.”

No one stepped forward.

Lady Maccon turned back to Sidheag. “Very well, then, I shall take one more look at that mummy. Now, if you would be so kind.”

Lady Kingair led the way up the stairs, but once there, Alexia did not follow her into the room. Instead she stood at the door, looking intently at the thing. It pushed against her, so that she had to fight a strange urge to turn and run. But she resisted, staring at the withered dark brown skin, almost black, shrunken down to hug those old bones. Its mouth was slightly open, bottom teeth visible, gray and worn. She could even see its eyelids, half-lidded, over the empty eye sockets. Its arms were crossed over its chest as though it were trying to hold itself together against death, clutching its soul inward.

Its soul.

“Of course,” Alexia gasped. “How could I have been so blind?”

Lady Kingair looked to her sharply.

“I have been thinking all along that it was an ancient weapon, and Conall that it was some plague your pack caught and brought back with you from Egypt. But, no, it is simply this mummy.”

“What? How could a mummy do such a thing?”

Resisting the terrible pushing sensation, Lady Maccon strode into the room and picked up a piece of the mummy’s discarded bandage, pointing to the image depicted on it. An ankh, broken in half. Like the circle on top of a cross in Lord Akeldama’s aethographic message, only fractured.

“This is not a symbol of death, nor of the afterlife. That is the name”—she paused—“or perhaps the title, of the person the mummy was in life. Do you not see? The ankh is the symbol for eternal life, and here it is shown broken. Only one creature can end eternal life.”

Sidheag gasped, one hand to her lips, and then she slowly lowered it and pointed to Lady Maccon. “A curse- breaker. You.”

Alexia smiled a tight little smile. She looked to the dead thing sadly. “Some long-ago ancestor, perhaps?” Despite herself she began to back away from it once more, the very air about the creature driving her away.

She looked to Lady Kingair, already knowing her answer. “Do you feel that?”

“Do I feel what, Lady Maccon?”

“I thought as much. Only I would notice.” She frowned again, mind racing. “Lady Kingair, do you know anything about preternaturals?”

“Only the basics. I should know more, were I a werewolf, for the howlers would have told me the stories that, as a human, I am not allowed to hear.”

Alexia ignored the bitterness in the older woman’s voice. “Who, then, is the oldest of the Kingair Pack?” She had never missed Professor Lyall more. He would have known. Of course he would. He was probably the one who told Lord Akeldama.

“Lachlan,” Lady Kingair answered promptly.

“I must speak with him directly.” Alexia whirled away, almost bumping into her maid, who stood behind her in the hallway.

“Madame.” Angelique’s eyes were wide and her cheeks pink. “Your room, what haz ’appened?”

“Not again!”

Lady Maccon dashed to her bedchamber, but it looked the same as when she had last left it. “Oh, this is nothing, Angelique. I simply forgot to tell you about it. Please see it is tidied.”

Angelique stood forlornly among the carnage and watched her mistress rush back downstairs. Lady Kingair followed sedately after.

“Mr. Lachlan,” Alexia called, and that earnest gentleman appeared in the vestibule, a look of concern on his pleasant face. “A private word if you would be so kind.”

She led the Gamma and Lady Kingair across the hall into a tight huddle away from the other pack members.

“This may come as a strange question, but please answer to the best of your knowledge.”

“Of course, Lady Maccon. Your wish is my command.”

“I am muhjah.” She grinned. “My command is your command.”

“Just so.” He inclined his head.

“What happens to us when we die?”

“A philosophical conversation, Lady Maccon? Is now the time?”

She shook her head, impatient. “No, not us here. I mean to say we as in preternaturals. What happens to preternaturals when we die?”

Lachlan frowned. “I have not known very many of your kind, rare as they fortunately are.”

Alexia bit her lip. Lord Akeldama’s message said preternaturals were cremated. What would happen if one was not? What would happen if the body was never allowed to decompose? Ghosts displayed, in their very nature, the fact that excess soul was tethered to the body. As long as the body could be preserved, the ghost would stick around—undead and progressively more insane, but around. Surely the ancient Egyptians would have discovered this for themselves through the process of mummification? It might even be the reason they mummified. Was there something about not having a soul that was also connected to the body? Perhaps soul-