Lord Akeldama smiled affectionately. His fangs showed clearly in the bright light. “There are my little ' drone-y-poos!” He shook his head. “Ah, to be young again.”
They were left untroubled by whatever it was that was occurring in the hallway. Apparently a closed door meant a well-respected “stay out” in Lord Akeldama's household. However, Alexia soon discovered that her vampire friend's domicile seemed to exist in a constant state of tumult-in-the-hallway.
Miss Tarabotti imagined this must be what it was like inside a gentlemen's club. She knew that there were no women among Lord Akeldama's drones. Even if his taste had extended in that direction, Lord Akeldama could hardly hope to present a female to Countess Nadasdy for metamorphosis. No queen would willingly turn a woman of a rove household; the chance of making a renegade queen, however slim, would never be risked. The countess probably only bit Lord Akeldama's male drones under sufferance—for the good of increasing the population. Unless, of course. Lord Akeldama was allied to a different hive. Miss Tarabotti did not ask. She suspected such a question might be impertinent.
Lord Akeldama sat back and twiddled his amethyst cravat pin with thumb and forefinger, pinky raised high into the air. “Well, my captivating crumpet, tell me about your visit to the hive!”
Alexia told him, as briefly as possible, about the experience and her evaluation of the characters involved.
Lord Akeldama seemed to agree with her general assessments. “Lord Ambrose you can disregard; he is her pet favorite but hasn't the brains of a peahen, I am afraid, for all his pulchritude. Such a waste!” He tut-tutted and shook his blond head sadly. “Now, the Duke of Hematol, he is a tricky character and in an outright sense of a one-on-one match, the most perilous of the Westminster inner circle.”
Alexia ruminated on that nondescript vampire who had reminded her so strongly of Professor Lyall. She nodded. “He certainly gave that impression.”
Lord Akeldama laughed. “Poor old Bertie, he works so hard nor to!” Miss Tarabotti raised her eyebrows. “Which is exactly why he does.”
“But you are, my daffodil, and I do not mean to cause offense, a tad insignificant fox his attentions. The duke contents himself mainly with attempting to rule the world and other suchlike nonsense. When one is guiding the patterns of the social universe, a single spinster preternatural is unlikely to cause one undue distress.”
Miss Tarabotti fully understood where he was coming from and was not in the least offended.
Lord Akeldama continued. “But, my treasure, under your particular circumstances, I suggest Dr. Caedes is the one to be most wary of. More mobile than the countess, and he is... How do I put this?” He stopped spinning his amethyst pin and began tapping it with one finger. “He is interested in minutia. You know he takes an interest in modern inventions?”
“That was his collection on display in the hallway of the hive house?”
Lord Akeldama nodded. “He dabbles himself, as well as investing and collecting like-minded drones. He is also not altogether compos mentis in the daylight sense of the term.”
“As opposed to?” Alexia was confused. Sanity was sanity, was it not?
“Ah”—Lord Akeldama paused—”we vampires tend to have an unfettered approach to the concept of mental health.” He twiddled his fingers in the air. “One's moral clarity goes a little fuzzy after the first two centuries or so.”
Miss Tarabotti said, “I see,” although she did not.
There came a timid knock on the drawing room door.
Lord Akeldama stilled the vibrating sound disrupter device. “Come!” he then sang out. It opened to reveal a gaggle of grinning young men, captained by the one Lord Akeldama had referred to earlier as Biffy. All of them were handsome, charming, and in high spirits. They bustled into the room. “My lord, we are going out to enjoy the full moon,” said Biffy, top hat in hand. Lord Akeldama nodded. “The usual instructions, my dear boys.”
Biffy and the other young bloods nodded, their smiles slipping ever so slightly. They were all dressed to the nines—dandified gentry of the kind welcome at any gathering and noticed at none. Alexia reasoned no man of Lord Akeldama's household would ever be less than perfectly fashionable, entirely presentable, and patently invisible as a result. A few favored his more outrageous mode of costuming, but most were toned-down, less eccentric versions of their lord. A few looked faintly familiar, but Alexia could not, for the life of her, pinpoint where or when she had seen them before. They were simply so very good at being exactly what was expected.
Biffy looked hesitantly at Miss Tarabotti before asking Lord Akeldama, “Anything in particular desired for this evening, my lord?”
Lord Akeldama waggled a wrist limply in the air. “There is a sizable game in motion, my darlings. I depend upon you all to play it with your usual consummate skill.”
The young men released a spontaneous cheer, sounding like they had already got into Lord Akeldama's champagne, and trundled out.
Biffy paused in the doorway, looking less jolly and more apprehensive. “You will be all right without us, my lord? I could stay if you wished.” There was something in his eyes that suggested he would very much like to do just that, and not only out of concern for his master's welfare.
Lord Akeldama stood and minced over to the doorway. He pecked the young man on the cheek, which was for show, and then stroked it gently with the back of his hand, which was not. “I must know the players.” He used no excessive emphasis when he spoke: no italic intonation, no endearments—just the flat sure voice of authority. He sounded old and tired.
Biffy looked down at the toe tips of his shiny boots. “Yes, my lord.”
Alexia felt a little discomfited, as though she were witnessing an intimate moment in the bedchamber. Her face heated with embarrassment, and she looked away, feigning sudden interest in the piano.
Biffy placed his top hat on his head, nodded once, and left the room.
Lord Akeldama closed the door behind him softly and returned to sit next to Miss Tarabotti.
Greatly daring, she put a hand on his arm. His fangs retracted. The human in him, buried by time, surfaced at her touch. Soul-sucker, the vampires called her, yet Alexia always felt it was only in these moments that she actually got close to seeing the true nature of Lord Akeldama's soul.
“They will be fine,” Miss Tarabotti said, trying to sound reassuring.
“I suspect that state would tend to depend on what my boys find out, and whether anyone thinks they have found out anything of import.” He sounded very paternal.
“So far, no drones have gone missing,” said Alexia, thinking about the French maid taking refuge at the Westminster hive, her rove master gone.
“Is that the official word? Or information from the source itself?” asked Lord Akeldama, patting the top of her hand with one of his appreciatively.
Alexia knew he was asking about BUR records. Since she did not know, she explained. “Lord Maccon and I are currently not on speaking terms.”
“Good gracious me, why ever not? It is so much more fun when you are.” Lord Akeldama had seen Miss Tarabotti and the earl through many an argument, but neither had ever resorted to silence before. That would defeat the purpose of their association.
“My mother wants him to marry me. And he agreed!” said Miss Tarabotti, as though that explained everything.
Lord Akeldama clapped a hand over his mouth in startlement, looking once more like his old frivolous self. He stared down into Alexia's upturned face to determine the veracity of her words. Upon realization that she was in earnest, he threw his head back and let out a quite unvampirelike bark of laughter.
“Showing his hand at last, is he?” He chuckled further, extracting a large perfumed mauve handkerchief from one waistcoat pocket to dab at his streaming eyes. “Lordy, what will the dewan have to say about such a union? Preternatural and supernatural! That has not happened in my lifetime. And Lord Maccon already so powerful. The hives will be outraged. And the potentate! Ha.”