Curtsies & Conspiracies

“Oh my,” whispered Dimity, “how monstrous!”

Sophronia inched closer to the vampire, trying to listen to the quiet conversation between his female attendants.

“Monique!” said Professor Lefoux. “You’ll have to do your duty.”

Monique, composed and regal, nodded and with a single lissome movement swirled off her cape. Without hesitation she pressed one of her wrists to the vampire’s gaping mouth.

He bit down, hard. Blood splattered Monique’s white skin.

The surrounding watchers inhaled as one.

Dimity, as was her custom, fainted.

Monique gave a delicate shudder but no other reaction.

Well, thought Sophronia, that secret is definitely out. It’s a good thing she’s having her coming-out ball and leaving the school, or there would be questions from her parents after this.

It could almost be thought romantic, if it hadn’t been so gruesome. A tiny teardrop of blood leaked out the corner of the vampire’s mouth; his eyes remained wide and staring. Behind him, the great staircase of the school cranked downward, white puffs of steam escaping into the night. The midship balloon was being inflated and the fake scaffolding put back into place.

“Pull her away,” barked Professor Lefoux, without looking up from the suit. “That’s enough blood for one girl to give.”

Lady Linette yanked Monique’s wrist off the vampire’s fangs and pushed her back.

Monique swayed.

The crowd murmured in concern, but no one stepped forward to help. Monique’s cronies and sycophants looked away guiltily. Even Preshea did not want to touch her.

Then, out of the crowd, came one of the other vampires. He was an impossibly handsome man, older than he looked, of course, but one to set any young lady’s heart fluttering. Even knowing he was a vampire. For some, especially knowing he was a vampire. He took hold of Monique gently, his hands soft and supportive on her shoulders.

“There, there, pretty little nibble.”

Monique looked up at him from dazed blue eyes. “Oh, thank you, kind sir.”

Sophronia tried to memorize the man’s face. He might be important.

“More blood,” barked Sister Mattie. “He will succumb otherwise. And he needs it now.” She was looking at Professor Lefoux.

“Look at this.” Vieve’s aunt was distracted, gesturing to some section of the suit. “It’s been tampered with! And the transmitter valve, it failed.”

“Never mind that now, Beatrice. He needs you.”

Professor Lefoux finally looked up. “What? Now?”

“Yes, now!”

“Oh, very well.” Professor Lefoux rolled up one sleeve of her serviceable gown and placed her wrist to the vampire’s still dripping fangs with an air of disregard.

The girls of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s, the ones still sensate, sent up a gasp. The implication was unavoidable. Professor Lefoux was also a drone to Professor Braithwope!

Everyone’s secrets are coming to light tonight, thought Sophronia, wondering how she had missed this little facet of interteacher dynamics. I should have been a better observer. That must have been Professor Lefoux in the green robe the other night.

Feeling self-conscious but knowing now was the right time to do it, Sophronia stepped forward and whispered in Professor Lefoux’s ear.

“Professor, I hesitate to say such a thing, but I believe I saw Professor Shrimpdittle going into your lab alone last night. And he certainly hates vampires.”

Professor Lefoux’s sharp eyes turned toward her. “What are you about, Miss Temminnick?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, Professor. Only letting you know, if there’s sabotage…” she trailed off.

Professor Lefoux, as if she could not help herself, glanced over the crowd, focusing on Professor Shrimpdittle. The boy’s teacher stood at the very back, looking as though he might run. His boyish face was equal parts shock and horror.

Sophronia stepped back into the throng.

Sidheag, supporting the fainted Dimity under one arm, asked gruffly, “What’s going on now?”

“Wait and watch.”

Eventually, Professor Braithwope stopped feeding. He still looked awful, eyes unfocused, and remained silent. He was lifted up by a group of dandies and carried on board.

Mademoiselle Geraldine pressed a large handkerchief to her trembling lips and trailed after, whispering brokenly, “But a man of such qualit-tay !” A few of the young ladies, overcome with sentiment, followed.

Professor Lefoux, without bothering to pretend weakness, tied Sister Mattie’s handkerchief about her own wrist, rolled down her sleeve and bent once more to examine the aether-suit. Eventually, she looked up.

“It has been tampered with, the guidance valve is not set properly. Meticulous sabotage, of the kind only possible from someone who knew how the suit worked. There is only one other person who could have done such a thing.”

“Well,” said Vieve, appearing at Sophronia elbow, “that’s not entirely true.”

“Vieve, you didn’t!”

“No, I didn’t, but I should like at least you to know that I could.”

Sophronia said, “Impossible child, better keep that to yourself.”

Professor Lefoux continued, “I am saddened to have to do this publicly, but Lord Ambrose, if you might be so kind as to seize Professor Shrimpdittle?”

The handsome vampire who had been consoling Monique looked at Professor Lefoux and then, with a curt nod, flitted supernaturally fast to the edge of the crowd, scooping up Professor Shrimpdittle before the man could even start to run.

“I object!” yelled the teacher, his eyes wild.

Sophronia felt suddenly unwell. She didn’t want to witness this, not after she had driven him to do it. Because of me, she thought, the suit was sabotaged. Because of me, Professor Braithwope could be permanently damaged. And now, because of me, this man will be punished for it. She wanted to be sick. She wanted to blame Vieve and her devilish bargain. Instead, she schooled her features, swallowed down the bile, and stood witness to her own actions.

“We object,” said one of the Picklemen in an autocratic tone. “Professor Shrimpdittle is a respected member of the Royal Society, not to mention a learned teacher.”

“He is also a noted vampire hater,” said Lord Ambrose, casually picking at his fang with a cravat pin while still holding Professor Shrimpdittle with his other hand.

The crowd separated. The vampires and their drones ranged against the Picklemen. The few ladies present, the remaining girls from the school, and Captain Niall held neutral territory between the two parties.

The potentate stepped forward, flanked on either side by two very large scruffy men. Captain Niall did a strange thing at the sight. He bowed, tilting his head and baring the back of his neck in a gesture of profound submission. Sidheag did the same. The scruffy men both nodded, accepting this odd behavior as their due. Their top hats, while fine specimens to the height of fashion, were tied beneath their chins, the black velvet ribbon stark against the white of evening cravats.

“Who are they?” Sophronia asked.

“The one with the mustache on the left is the dewan, the queen’s own werewolf and the potentate’s counterpart. The other one is Lord Vulkasin Woolsey,” explained Sidheag out the corner of her mouth.

“Is there anything you don’t know about werewolves?” Sophronia demanded.

“Nope. You try living with them for a few years running. They’re not exactly subtle.”