Heartless

Professor Lyall did not flinch. “Of course not.”

“Wife?”

Alexia swallowed her bit of pudding. “He knows because, well, this is Lord Akeldama. You are going to have to get accustomed to it, my dear.”

“Thank you, darling plum nubbin, for your faith in my meager resources.”

“Of course, my lord. So?”

“Ah, dandelion fluff, I regret that I have not yet formed a ready opinion as to the nature and origin of these latest twitterings.”

A footman appeared with the lemon, and Lyall poured the vampire a cup of tea. Lord Akeldama sipped it delicately.

Lord Maccon snorted. “You haven’t lacked for a ready opinion in the whole of your very long life.”

The vampire tittered at that. “True, but those expressed traditionally concern matters of dress, not politics.”

Floote came in with Alexia’s dispatch case. “You’re due at the palace shortly, madam.”

“Oh, my, yes, look at the time. Thank you, Floote. My parasol?”

“Here, madam.”

“And perhaps a bite to take along?”

Floote handed her a sausage roll wrapped in checked cloth, having anticipated just such a request.

“Oh, thank you, Floote.”

The earl looked up hopefully. Wordlessly Floote handed him another sausage roll. The earl downed it in two satisfied bites, even though he had just finished a rather large meal. Floote and Lyall exchanged knowing looks. It had become quite the task to keep both Lord and Lady Maccon fed these days.

Lady Maccon leaned forward onto the table, bracing against it with both hands, pleased to live in a household that did not favor the spindly furniture so in vogue with ladies of quality. By dint of some sizable effort, she managed to almost hoist herself to her feet before losing her balance and lurching back down.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she cried out in abject frustration. The gentlemen all leaped to her assistance. Lord Maccon made it to her first. Which was probably a good thing. With her preternatural touch, none of the others present would have been of any use. They were all too slight in their mortal forms to handle her clumsiness.

Having gained her feet and some measure of her dignity, Alexia said, “I really must say, I am finding my own proportions quite vulgar.”

Lord Maccon hid his smile. “Not all that much longer, my dear.”

Alexia hated it when he called her his dear. “Really, it can’t occur soon enough.” She waved off Floote’s offer of a cloak and accepted a light shawl instead. It was plenty warm enough even without the wrap, but formalities must be observed. Then she gathered up her case and parasol.

Biffy appeared at her elbow, bloodred tailcoat in place, pure white cravat emphasizing his pleasant features, and matched red top hat on his head. He may have had to sacrifice a good many things to take up his new role as a werewolf, but he had refused to sacrifice his tailor.

“I am to act as escort this evening, my lady?”

“Oh, yes, Biffy dear. How did you know?”

Biffy gave her a look remarkably similar to the one always worn by Lord Akeldama when he was asked such a question.

Alexia nodded her understanding and then looked to the vampire. “Share a carriage, my lord potentate?”

“Why not?” Lord Akeldama sucked down the last of his tea, stood, performed an exaggerated bow to the two werewolves still at the dining table, and offered his arm to Alexia. She took it and they swept from the room, Biffy trailing faithfully after.

As they left, Lady Maccon heard her husband say to Lyall, “How long do you imagine we are going to have to keep up this place of residence?”

“Until the child is grown, I suppose,” responded the Beta.

“God’s teeth, it’s going to be a long sixteen years.”

“I imagine you’ll survive it relatively unscathed, my lord.”

“Randolph, you and I both know there are things far worse than death.”

Alexia and Lord Akeldama exchanged smiles.

* * *

“Did you tell her?” asked the first ghost, stretched as far as she could, shimmering in and out of existence with the strain of her extended tether.

“I told her.” The second ghost bobbed up and down in the air above the street. She was a little more substantial, a little closer to home. “I told her what I could remember. I told her to put a stop to it. Are we done now?”

They were both lucid, strangely lucid, for two so near the end of enmatterment. It was as though the afterlife were giving them this one chance to fix things.

“We’re done,” said the first ghost. Both of them knew she wasn’t referring to their plan or to their relationship but to their inevitable demise. “Now only I must wait.”

CHAPTER FOUR Where Tethered Specters Meet

Lady Maccon, muhjah, and Lord Akeldama, potentate, were allowed through the entrance to Buckingham Palace with very little ceremony. It was not one of their scheduled visits, but Lord Akeldama and Lady Maccon were regulars and, as such, required only minimal perusal. They were also favorites, or Lady Maccon was. Lord Akeldama was generally regarded by members of both the military and the constabulary with whom he had congress as challenging in large doses. However, the castle guards were diligent, hardworking lads with a care to their royal duties. Lady Maccon’s neck was checked for bite marks and her dispatch case for illegal steam devices. She yielded up her parasol without question. Alexia would rather have them confiscate it than have to explain how it worked. Lord Akeldama’s clothing was far too tight for any hidden weaponry, but the guards did check his top hat before allowing him to proceed.

Biffy was not permitted entrance, despite the extraordinarily royal color of his jacket. He was pronounced, with much forcefulness, as being not on the register. However, Biffy was of such a pleasant disposition that he was content to remain behind at the entrance for the duration of the council. Alexia distinctly heard him say, in lilting tones, “Such a big hat you have, Lieutenant Funtington!” to one of the stoic-faced palace guards.

“Incorrigible child,” she said to Lord Akeldama with a smile of affection.

“I would say I taught him everything he knows, but Biffy’s a natural.” Lord Akeldama nodded his approval.

They made their way into the meeting chamber to find the dewan already pacing about in a tizzy. Queen Victoria was not there. The queen did not attend most Shadow Councils. She expected to be informed of anything significant but otherwise was uninterested in the minutiae.

“Threat to the queen, I hear.” The dewan was a large gruff individual who reminded Alexia of her husband, in character if not in appearance or manner. Not that she would ever tell this to either of them. He held state as the Earl of Upper Slaughter but no longer boasted the country seat to accompany the title. Similarly, he had the demeanor of a leader without a pack. This freedom from responsibility both as lord and Alpha made the dewan the most powerful autonomous werewolf in all England. And, even though he was not quite as big as Conall Maccon, it was generally acknowledged by all—including said Conall Maccon—that Lord Slaughter could give even that most feared of Alphas a fight for his fur. Thus, the dewan and Lord Maccon tended to circle each other, both in and out of polite company, rather like two tugboats drawing freight—widely and with much tooting.

“Indeed.” Alexia’s practical side was pleased at the two Alphas’ respective similarities, because constant exposure to her husband had given her the necessary skills for handling the dewan.

She and Lord Akeldama wafted—or, in Alexia’s case, toddled—in and took seats at the long mahogany table,