Timeless

The moment he died, Prudence turned back into a normal baby. Or as normal as she got. Alexia filed that little fact away; apparently something else canceled out her daughter’s powers besides her mother, sunlight, and distance—death.

There was a good deal of cleanup to be done, a number of explanations and arrangements to be made, and discussions to be had. Not to mention several formal introductions and a few broken bones and bloody necks to medicate. The five remaining vampires looked at one another and then, as a body, rushed to surround their new queen, chattering at her in Arabic and gesticulating excitedly.

Ivy, confused—head bobbling back and forth between them, white feather puffing about—finally raised her voice in a most un-Ivy-like way and ordered silence. She looked to her husband—who was standing, crying, clutching Primrose to his breast—and then turned to Lady Maccon for assistance.

“Alexia, pleath ethplain whath ith going on?”

Lady Maccon did, to the best of her ability. The pretty female drone who spoke English translated the explanation for the benefit of the vampires. Soon it became clear to everyone that Ivy had both a husband and children, which caused much consternation, as such a thing was taboo among those seeking metamorphosis. At which Ivy protested she hadn’t sought it, so she couldn’t possibly be blamed. Alexia stated categorically that what was changed was changed, and like spilled blood, there was no point going on about it. Mrs. Tunstell was a vampire queen now and they had all better make the best of the husband and twins that came with the package.

Ivy said she felt remarkably restless and wanted to know if she had to stay in Alexandria for the rest of her life.

Alexia remembered Lord Akeldama once mentioning something about new queens having several months to resettle. How else would vampires have spread over the world? Ivy said, good, in that case she wished to return to London immediately.

The Egyptian vampires protested. Alexandria was their home, had been for hundreds of years! Ivy would have none of it. London was her home, and if she had to spend eternity anywhere, it was going to be in the place where one could get a decent hat! She batted her eyelashes and lisped out girlish pleas, her character clearly not so much metamorphosed as her soul. Yet her tactic worked despite her lack of autocratic tendencies. In remarkably short order, everyone was dispersing. Those drones who wished to ally with a new queen and relocate were to pack and meet at the departure dock for the steamer the next morning. The vampires, looking slightly panicked, dashed off to gather belongings and then, sticking close to Ivy, escorted her, her husband, her daughter, and her acting troupe back to the hotel.

Alexia was left in the hive house with Matakara’s dead body, Madame Lefoux, Prudence, and Lord Maccon. Her daughter was exhausted beyond her childish capacities and was sitting in a sobbing heap. Her husband was still a wolf. During Ivy’s metamorphosis, Floote had disappeared.

Madame Lefoux gave Alexia a long look and then climbed up to examine the vampire queen’s body and chair with studied interest, pointedly leaving Alexia to work out her family affairs on her own.

Alexia went over and scooped up Prudence, cuddling the sobbing baby close. She simply stood like that, glaring at her husband, tapping one foot.

Finally, Lord Maccon shifted form.

“Explain yourself,” said his lady wife in a very decided tone of voice.

“Floote found me badly injured and imprisoned among his men and tended to me until he could get me out of the plague zone,” Lord Maccon explained.

Alexia thought about her former butler. “His men? Ah. While I am very grateful to him for seeing to you, wayward husband, it does seem to me that it was his men who caused all the fuss in the first place.”

Lord Maccon said, “According to Floote, they didn’t know who you were. He has given them new instructions.”

“I should hope so.” Alexia paused, considering her next move. “Do you think we’ll ever find him?”

Lord Maccon shook his head. “Not if he doesn’t want to be found. Floote has a whole network here, and familiarity with the terrain, and no werewolves to track him in the God-Breaker Zone.”

“I suppose that saves us from determining what to do with a butler who goes around killing people. It certainly reflects badly upon our domestic staff. Still, I shall miss him. There was a man who knew how to brew a good cup of tea.” Alexia was sad to lose her dear old companion, but she also knew it was for the best. She should hate to have to put him on trial or turn him over to Lady Kingair.

“Did Floote tell you it was all based on a deal my father made with Matakara?”

“He did.”

Alexia asked her husband, “What are we to do about it?”

Lord Maccon came over to her tentatively, unsure whether she forgave him yet for dying on her, unsure whether he forgave her yet for lying to him.

Alexia could sense his uncertainty. She was having none of any such silliness anymore. She closed the gap between them and curled herself against his nakedness, bracketing Prudence against his large form so that the baby was in close contact with both her parents.

Prudence gave a little murmur of approval.

Conall sighed, giving over his resentment, and wrapped his family tight in his strong arms. He pressed small kisses against Alexia’s temple and against his daughter’s head.

The earl cleared his throat, still holding Alexia tight against him. The words rumbled in the massive chest so close to her ear. “I have been giving some thought to my retirement.”

“Indeed, how very unusual of you. From BUR, or from the pack?”

“Both. I purchased property, in Cairo, shortly after we arrived.”

Alexia tilted her head back and looked to her husband in confusion. “Conall, what is this?”

“A strategic retreat, my love. I thought, when Prudence has grown, we might return here, together. Take long walks, eat pastries, play, uh, backgammon or whatnot.”

“In the God-Breaker Zone… but you’ll grow old and die!”

“As will you.” Conall began stroking her back in a soothing manner.

“Yes, but I was always going to grow old and die!”

“Now we can do it together.”

“My love, that’s a very chivalric thought, but there is no need to be nonsensical in matters of the heart.”

The earl stopped petting his wife and leaned a little away from her so he could look down into her upturned face. His tawny eyes were serious. “My dear, I am getting old. Older than you think. I will not allow myself to become one of those Alphas. Two Betas have already betrayed me—I must be losing some measure of control. In another decade or so, it will be time to let go gracefully. Can you think of a better way than relocating here?”

Alexia, practical to the last, actually considered this. “Well, no. But, dear, are you quite certain?”

“You like it here, don’t you, my love?”

Alexia tilted her head. “Well, it’s warm, and the food is tasty.”

“That’s settled, then.”

Lady Maccon was not one to give in so easily as that. “We will have to bring a great deal of tea with us when we relocate.” She was quite firm on that point.

“We could start a tea-import business,” suggested her husband. “Something to keep you entertained in your old age.”

“Trade! Really, I don’t know…” Alexia trailed off thoughtfully.

Madame Lefoux, all forgotten until that moment, jumped down off the throne platform to join them. “It’s very romantic, his wanting to die with you.”

“You would say that.”

“Can I come and join you as well?” She sidled up to Alexia and winked at her.

“Genevieve, you don’t know when to give up, do you?”

Conall wore a very amused expression.

“Can you imagine the things I could build without supernatural or governmental interference?”

“Good gracious me, what a terrifying thought. You may visit us, Genevieve, but that is all.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Shall we?” suggested Conall, gesturing at the exit.

The four of them filed out of the now-abandoned hive house. Alexia paused to turn and look at it thoughtfully. They might make use of it as well. After all, Alexandria was a port city. If they were going to import tea… “Oh, dear, Prudence, I’m already thinking like a tradeswoman.”

“No,” said Prudence.

Conall stepped out into the street. Alexia considered reminding her husband he was naked and then gave up. In Alexandria, they were bound to be a spectacle whatever they did.

She shifted her daughter to her other hip. The baby’s eyes were half closed and she was nodding off, the victim of an exciting night. “Come along, then, Prudence, my dear.”

“No,” muttered Prudence softly.

Madame Lefoux said, “Have you ever considered that she might be saying no because she doesn’t like her name? She never says no when you use an endearment.”

Alexia stopped, floored by the idea. “Do you think? Is that true, my little puggle?” She used Lord Akeldama’s favorite moniker for Prudence.

“Yes,” said Prudence.

“Prudence?”

“No!” said Prudence.

“Goodness, Genevieve, you may be on to something. What should we call her, do you think?”

“Well, she has an excessive number of names. Why not wait until she’s a little older? She can choose for herself. Can’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” said Prudence, most categorically.

“There, you see? Takes after her mother already.”

“What could you mean by that?” queried Alexia archly.

“Likes her own way, doesn’t she?” suggested the Frenchwoman with a dimpled smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Lady Maccon with a great deal of dignity. With which she took off at a brisk pace, keeping an eye to her husband’s rather distinguished backside as it wandered down the street under the waning Egyptian moon.

CHAPTER TWENTY

In Which Times Shift

After a sea journey only slightly less exciting than the first, Lord and Lady Maccon, their daughter, the Tunstells and their twins, the acting troupe, one nursemaid, five vampires, and seven drones arrived at the port of Southampton on a blustery day in late April of 1876. Such a crowd had mostly taken over the ship and proceeded, in remarkably fine fettle after such an extensive journey, to take over the train to London.

London was ill prepared for such an invasion. It was also not quite the same London as when they had departed.

Lord Maccon, for one, returned to his pack to find that his previous Beta had emigrated to Scotland for an unspecified indenture and that a young dandy of an Alpha waited tentatively in his place.

Biffy handed him a letter from Professor Lyall, tears in his eyes. Alexia, unabashed, read it over her husband’s arm.

“My dear sir. I have no means of making amends. Even an apology would be more an insult, of that I am well aware. I have trained young Biffy to the best of my abilities. He will make a fine Beta, even though, as you may now already have smelled, he has manifested Anubis form. I thought, perhaps, you might take over training him for his next role—your replacement—contingent upon such a time as you leave us for Egypt and a well-earned retirement.”

Upon reading that, Alexia asked, “How did he know your plans? You didn’t discuss it with him ahead of time, did you?”

“No, but that’s Randolph for you.”

They continued with the letter.

“Our Biffy is part of this modern age. Shifting times require a London dandy for a London Pack. Try not, my dear lord, to see him in light of your own abilities as Alpha. He will never be that kind of wolf. I believe he is what our pack will need in the future, regardless.”

Alexia looked up at Biffy. The young werewolf seemed to be feeling a more intense emotion over Professor Lyall’s abandonment than she might have predicted. What had happened while they were in Egypt?

“Biffy,” asked Alexia, because she had no subtlety, “did something significant occur between you and Lyall while we were away?”

Biffy hung his head. “He promised he would come back to me eventually. When we were all ready. Ten, twenty years, he said. Not so long for an immortal. Shifting times, he said.”

Alexia nodded, feeling old. “But it feels like a very long time?” Ah, young love.

Biffy nodded sadly.

The earl, sensitive to his pack member’s feelings, drew Alexia’s attention back to Lyall’s letter before she could continue interrogating the young dandy.

The letter continued.

“Don’t tell Biffy yet. He isn’t ready to know his future. Not the one that I envision for him. But he is ready to learn how to lead a pack, and you, my lord, will be an excellent teacher. Despite everything, I remain faithfully your friend, Professor Randolph Lyall.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">