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 that tone of voice. The voice that Prudence rarely heard but knew meant trouble. “Right this very moment, young lady!”
For Prudence, currently a vampire, right this very moment was very fast indeed. In a veritable flash, she was at Alexia’s side. Alexia grabbed her daughter, turning her human once more, and then, without any kind of compunction at all, lifted her up and set her in the lap of Queen Matakara of Alexandria.
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 no new queen!”
“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.
Chancellor Neshi pulled a set of leather belts with chain links attached and strapped them over Ivy, lashing her tightly against his queen. Then he turned and nodded at Lady Maccon.
Alexia took Prudence into her arms.
Queen Matakara turned back to a vampire.
She began spouting a string of words, ancient-sounding words, not Arabic at all but some other language. Her voice was commanding, melodic, and very direct. Chancellor Neshi leaped to her side and bent to her ear, whispering frantically. The other vampires stilled, waiting.
Alexia wasn’t quite certain what they thought was happening. Would they know that their queen was still destined to die? Did they know the bargain the chancellor was striking? Did they understand the ancient tongue, or did they still think there was a chance?
Chancellor Neshi leaped back down and approached Alexia. When Conall growled and would not let him near, Alexia said, “All is well, husband. I do believe I know what he wants.”
Chancellor Neshi sidled past the still-bristling wolf. “She desires your assurance, Soulless, that you will see the deed done, whether this metamorphosis is successful or not.”
“You have my word,” said Alexia. She was thinking of Countess Nadasdy, a younger and stronger queen. The countess had failed to metamorphose a new queen. Yet here Alexia was wagering all their lives on Ivy Tunstell having excess soul and Queen Matakara enough strength to draw it out of her.