expected. Even all his fancy fencing tricks from
A scream diverted Alexia’s attention. A vampire launched himself at Ivy, going for her neck. The drone attacking her fell back.
Alexia unhooked her parasol, took aim, and then realized she was out of numbing darts. She turned the middle nodule right and out popped the wooden stake at the tip. She began bashing about with it. She dared not use the lapis solaris; the acid would surely do just as much damage to one of her actor defenders.
Prudence, who had taken initial refuge from the kerfuffle under a small table, emerged at Ivy’s terrified scream. She charged the vampire attacking Mrs. Tunstell and beat at his ankle with her tiny fists. It was enough contact to turn her vampire, and him not. He was left gnawing uselessly on Ivy’s bloodied neck, and Prudence turned into a bouncing blur of excited infant with supernatural abilities. She was of very little help as she merely bucketed about, not knowing her own strength, hurling everyone aside whether vampire, drone, or actor. Behind her, Ivy crumpled to the floor, still managing to support Primrose but suffering from shock or loss of blood, or both.
And then, leaping up to the balcony from the street below and charging into the room via the open window came a massive beast. And atop the wolf, looking as dignified and butlerlike as might be possible for a man riding a werewolf, was Floote.
Alexia stopped trying to touch Queen Matakara and turned in a slow, ponderous manner. She felt as though she were seeing and experiencing everything underwater.
“Conall Maccon, I thought you were dead!”
Lord Maccon looked up at his wife from where he had his jaws about a vampire’s leg, let go, and barked at her.
“Do you know how I’ve been suffering for the last week? How could you? Where have you been?”
He barked again.
Alexia wanted to throw herself at him and wrap both arms and legs about him. She also wanted to whack him over the head with her parasol. But he was there and he was alive and everything was suddenly working again. The numbness vanished and Alexia took in the world around her. Her brain, somewhat absent for the better part of a week, returned to full capacity.
She looked to her butler. “Floote, what have you done?”
Floote only pulled out a gun and began shooting vampires.
“Prudence,” Alexia called sharply, “come to Mama!”
Prudence, who had been, until that moment, busy trying to suck the blood out of the arm of a very surprised drone, stopped and looked over at her mother. “No!”
Alexia used
For Prudence, currently a vampire,
Prudence said, “Oh, Dama,” in a very somber voice and looked deep into the tormented eyes of the ancient vampire. Her little face was as grave and gentle as any nurse ministering to the wounded on a battlefield. She stood up on the frail woman’s lap and reached for her face.
Madame Lefoux, having somehow determined what was happening, even through the chaos, appeared on the other side of the aged queen. The inventor assessed the situation. In a few quick movements, she flipped several toggles and snaps at the bottom of Queen Matakara’s mask. The awful thing fell away, exposing the vampire’s face fully to Prudence’s metanatural touch.
Under the mask, Matakara’s skin was sunken against the bones of her chin, but it was clear she had once been quite beautiful. Her face was heart shaped with an aquiline nose, broadly spaced eyes, and small mouth.
Prudence, drawn by the newly exposed flesh, placed one small, chubby hand to the vampire’s chin. It was a sympathetic, intimate gesture, and Alexia couldn’t help but imagine that her daughter somehow knew exactly what she was doing.
Complete and total pandemonium resulted.
All the vampires in the room turned as one, leaving off whoever they had been fighting with or feeding on. They charged. This only frightened Prudence who, now a vampire once more, leaped nimbly out of the way and dashed about the room pell-mell.
Matakara, mortal and still attached to her chair, jerked against the straps and tubes, letting out a silent scream of agony.
One of the vampires turned to Alexia. “You! Soulless. Make it stop!”
Lord Maccon, still a wolf, mouth dripping with old dark vampire blood, leaped to his wife’s defense. His hackles were up, his teeth bared in a snarl.
“She cannot die,” cried out one of the vampires. Clearly more of them spoke English than Alexia had previously supposed. “We have
“So you, too, will die.” Lady Maccon was unsympathetic.
“More than that, we will go mad. We will take Alexandria with us. Just think of the damage even six vampires can do to one city.”
Alexia looked around. Madame Lefoux had lost her hat but otherwise stood strong. She was tussling with the beautiful female drone on the opposite side of the throne. Mr. Tumtrinkle lay fallen in one corner. Alexia wasn’t certain he still breathed. Several of the other thespians were looking worse for the wear. One of the younger, prettier actresses bled copiously from multiple neck bites. Floote stood in the midst of the melee, wooden knife in one hand, an expression of utterly unbutlerlike ferocity on his face. When he caught Alexia’s eye, his customary impassivity immediately returned. Then, coming from the far side of the room, Alexia heard a strangled choking sound and saw Tunstell sobbing, his red head bent over the crumpled form of Ivy.
Alexia’s friend lay broken and bloodied, her neck a ruin of torn flesh. Baby Primrose, unharmed, lay squalling in the crook of Ivy’s flaccid arm. Tunstell scooped the child up and clutched her to his breast, still sobbing.
A shout distracted Alexia from the tragic scene—one of the other vampires managed to capture Prudence. He ran toward Alexia with the toddler’s struggling form held out at arm’s length, as if in an egg-and-spoon race. Alexia knew he would try to hand her the child. She dodged away. Not that she didn’t love her daughter, but right then she certainly didn’t want to touch her.
Lord Maccon snarled and intercepted the attack, perfectly understanding Alexia’s predicament.
“Wait!” yelled Alexia. “I have an idea. Chancellor, what if we could get you a new queen?”
The vampire stepped forward. “That is an acceptable proposal, if Matakara has the strength to try and we have a volunteer? Who do you suggest?”
Alexia looked thoughtfully at Madame Lefoux.
Even in the middle of grappling intimately with the beautiful drone, the Frenchwoman shook her head madly. The inventor had never sought immortality.
“Don’t worry, Genevieve, I had someone else in mind.”
Around her everything stilled as Alexia walked across the room to where Ivy Tunstell lay. Her bosom companion’s breathing was shallow, her face unnaturally pale. She did not look long for this world. Alexia was familiar enough with death to know when it stalked a friend. She swallowed down hard on her own unhappiness and looked to Ivy’s beloved husband. “Well, Tunstell, how would you like to be married to a queen?”
Tunstell’s eyes were red but it took him no time at all to make the decision. He had once been a claviger and had spent his life on the fringe of immortal society. He had sacrificed his own bid for metamorphosis to marry Miss Ivy Hisselpenny. He had no compunctions or reservations. If Ivy were to be dead or a vampire, he would rather her be a vampire. Tunstell was the most progressive man Alexia had ever met.
“Try it, Lady Maccon, I entreat you.”
So Alexia signaled to one of the vampires in that utterly autocratic way of hers. The vampire came to do her bidding, when only a few minutes earlier he might have killed her where she stood. He carried Ivy over to drape her on Matakara, setting the actress on the queen’s lap like a ventriloquist’s doll and arranging her to lie back so Ivy’s neck was near Matakara’s mouth. Ivy’s head lolled back.
