Heartless

Alexia looked down at her protruding belly. “So the evidence would seem to suggest.” The baby inside of her moved around as though to punctuate the statement. Yes, said Alexia to it internally, I don’t like Lord Ambrose either. But now is not the time for histrionics.

“Ah, yes, felicitations on the imminent event.”

“Let us hope not all that imminent. Incidentally, my apologies, venerable ones. Until recently, you seem to have found the advent of my progeny discombobulating.”

“Exactly, My Queen, we cannot have that—”

Lady Maccon interrupted Lord Ambrose by the simple expedient of prodding his ribs with her parasol. She aimed exactly for that point in the rib cage that the ticklish find most discomposing. Not that vampires got ticklish, so far as Alexia was aware, but it was the principle of the thing. “Yes, yes, I know you still would prefer it if I were dead, Lord Ambrose, but never mind that now. Countess, listen to me. You have to get away.”

Lord Ambrose moved and Lady Maccon proceeded toward the hive queen.

The countess dabbed at a bit of blood on the side of her mouth with a white linen handkerchief. Alexia barely caught a hint of fang before they were tucked away behind perfect cupid’s bow–shaped lips. The countess never showed fang unless she meant it. “My dear Lady Maccon, what are you wearing? Is that a visiting gown?”

“What? Oh, yes, sorry. I hadn’t intended to come to your lovely gathering, or I would be more appropriately dressed. But, please listen, you must leave now!”

“Leave this room? Whatever for? It is one of my particular favorites.”

“No, no, leave the house.”

“Abandon my hive? Never! Don’t be foolish, child.”

“But, Countess, there is an octomaton heading in this direction. It wants to kill you and it knows the location.”

“Preposterous. There hasn’t been an octomaton in a dog’s age. And how would it know where to find me?”

“Ah, yes, well, as to that. There was this break-in, you see—”

Lord Ambrose bristled. “Soul-sucker! What have you done?”

“How was I to remember one little invitation from way back?”

The countess went momentarily still, like a wasp atop a slice of melon. “Lady Maccon, who is it that wants to kill me?”

“Oh, too many to choose from? I am similarly blessed.”

“Lady Maccon!”

Alexia had hoped not to reveal the identity of the culprit. It was one thing to warn the hive of imminent attack; it was quite another to expose Madame Lefoux without first understanding her motives. Well, perhaps if my friend had let me in on her reasoning, I might not now be forced into this situation. But in the end, I am muhjah, and I must remember that my duty is to maintain the solidarity of the peace between humans and supernatural folk. No matter Madame Lefoux’s grounds, we cannot have a hive arbitrarily attacked by an inventor. It is not only impolitic, it is impolite.

So, Lady Maccon took a deep breath and told the truth. “Madame Lefoux has built the octomaton. She intends to kill you with it.”

The countess’s big cornflower-blue eyes narrowed.

“What!” That was Lord Ambrose.

The Duke of Hematol made his way over toward his queen. “I told you no good would come of taking in that French maid.”

The countess held up a hand. “She’s after the boy.”

“Of course she is after the boy!” The duke’s voice was harsh with annoyance. “Dabble in the affairs of mortal women and this is what transpires. Octomaton at your doorstep. I warned you.”

“Your complaint was recorded by the edict keeper at the time.”

Lady Maccon blinked. “Quesnel? What has he to do with any of this? Wait.” She tilted her head and gave the countess a look. “Did you kidnap Madame Lefoux’s son?”

Alexia often felt it wasn’t possible for a vampire to look guilty. But the countess was giving the expression a fair facsimile.

“Why? I mean, for goodness’ sake.” Lady Maccon shook her finger at the hive queen as though the ancient vampire were a very naughty schoolgirl caught with her hand in the jam jar. “Shame on you! Bad vampire.”

The countess tsked dismissively. “Oh, really. There’s no cause for condescension, soul-sucker. The boy was promised to us. In her will, Angelique named the hive guardian to her child. We didn’t even know he existed until that moment. Madame Lefoux wouldn’t hear of it, of course. But he is ours. And we never let go of what is rightfully ours. We didn’t kidnap him. We retrieved him.”

Lady Maccon thought of her own child, now promised away to Lord Akeldama in order to keep them both safe from fang interference and assassination attempts. “Oh, really, Countess. I mean to say! What is it with you vampires? Don’t you ever relax your machinations? No wonder Genevieve wants to kill you. Kidnapping. That’s very low. Very low, indeed. What could you possibly want with the boy anyway? He’s a terrible scamp.”

The countess’s round, pleasant face went very hard. “We want him because he is ours! What more reason do we need? The law is on our side in this. We have copies of the will.”

Lady Maccon demanded details. “Does it name the hive, or you specifically, Countess?”

“Me alone, I believe.”

Lady Maccon cast her hands heavenward, although there was no one up there for her to appeal to. It was an accepted fact that preternaturals had no spiritual recourse, only pragmatism. Alexia didn’t mind; the latter had often gotten her out of sticky situations, whereas the former seemed highly unreliable when one was in a bind. “Well, there you have it. With no legal recourse, Genevieve only has to see you dead in order to get her child back. Plus, she has the added pleasure of killing the woman who corrupted her lover.”

The countess looked as though she had not thought of matters in such a way.

“You cannot be serious.”

Alexia shrugged. “Consider her perspective.”

The countess stood. “Good point. And she is French. They get terribly emotional, don’t they? Ambrose, arm the defenses. Hematol, send out runners. If it really is an octomaton, we are going to need additional military support. Get me my personal physician. Oh, and bring out the aethertronic Gatling gun.”

Lady Maccon could not help but admire the countess’s command of the situation. Alexia herself was sometimes known, among members of the pack, as the general. Of course, the gentlemen in question believed their mistress unaware of this moniker. Alexia preferred it that way and would periodically go into fits of autocratic demands simply to ascertain if she could get them to grumble about it when they thought she couldn’t hear. Werewolves tended to believe all mortals slightly deaf.

As the countess set about putting her people in order, her meal, left to lie on the tea table in soporific languor, stirred. The young blonde raised herself slowly up onto her elbows and looked about foggily.

“Felicity!”

“Oh, dear, Alexia? What on earth are you doing here?”

“Me! Me?” Lady Maccon was reduced to sputtering. “What about you? I’ll have you know, sister mine, that I came here because I had an invitation to the party!”

Felicity wiped delicately at the side of her neck with a tea cloth. “I didn’t know you ran in the countess’s circles.”

“You mean, supernatural circles? My husband is a werewolf, for goodness’ sake! Must you keep forgetting that tiny little detail?”

“Yes, but on full-moon night, shouldn’t you be with him? And aren’t you terribly far along to be out in public?”

Lady Maccon practically growled. “Felicity. My presence here is not of concern. But yours most certainly is! What on earth are you doing allowing a vampire—and not just any vampire, mind you, but the ruddy Westminster queen herself—to feed on you?