Born to Bite Bundle

by Hannah Howell

  Miss Breckenridge carried on nonetheless. “Besides, drinking blood isn’t the only sign of demonic vampirism.”

  One of Ellie’s brows lifted despite herself. “No?”

  At this query, Miss Breckenridge shook her head triumphantly.

  “What else is there, then? Empirically, that is.”

  “For one, vampires cannot abide sunlight.” Miss Breckenridge’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And no one has ever see Mártainn Macane during the day.”

  Ellie’s shoulder twitched, but she refrained from indulging in a shrug. “With all due respect, that simply proves he dislikes the sun. Given that pale complexions are de rigueur, avoiding the sun hardly makes him suspicious. I’m a night person myself. I cannot remember the last time I gadded about during the day, if I ever have, and I’m certainly not a vampire. My own mother rarely leaves her bedchamber before dusk—surely you don’t accuse her of vampirism, too?”

  “No, no, of course not,” Miss Breckenridge said with a wave of her lace-gloved hand. “But then, your mother hasn’t been running about biting nobility, as Lord Lovenip does.” Miss Breckenridge gasped dramatically and pressed her hand to her throat in obvious consternation. “Oh dear Lord, I’ve gone and used that ridiculous moniker myself.” She screwed up her face and glared at Ellie as if the slip were somehow Ellie’s fault instead of her own. With a sigh, she collapsed back against her seat. “What can I do to convince you vampires exist and that the dashing Mr. Macane is living—or rather undead—proof? Is it money you wish? Here . . .” She opened a satin, monogrammed reticule and dug through its contents before brandishing a crumpled five-pound note. “I’ll double the amount. This now, and fifteen more once you conclude the investigation. What do you say?”

  Ellie stared at the wrinkled banknote in her client’s elegant outstretched palm. The money would mean everything to her and nothing at all to Miss Breckenridge. Her client hadn’t been about to sack her out of disappointment over her behavior, but rather due to a belief that she wasn’t taking the situation seriously. Given that Ellie had felt herself under her mother’s ultraconservative thumb her entire life, and had begun scientific investigations as much out of rebellion as industriousness, she could certainly empathize with a desire to be taken seriously. To know her own mind. Regardless of whether her beliefs matched everyone else’s.

  “Very well.” Ellie plucked the crumpled paper from her client’s palm and slowly, methodically, flattened it across one knee before folding it carefully and consigning it to the darkness of her own, otherwise vacant purse. Then she returned her gaze to her client and tried to apply her most scientific perspective to the topic at hand. “Are there any characteristics shared by supposed vampires that are not also plausibly explained by eccentric, but wholly human, actions of man?”

  Miss Breckenridge bit her lip in consideration. “Well, I’ve never seen him eat a morsel of food, or drink a single drop of punch. . . .”

  “No one with any brains drinks the ratafia,” Ellie countered logically. “It’s horrid.”

  “Fine.” Miss Breckenridge’s eyes narrowed at a spot just above Ellie’s shoulder for a long moment. Her sudden victory squeal nearly knocked Ellie out of her skin. “A mirror!” she exclaimed, rapping Ellie’s knee for emphasis. “Vampires have no reflections, and no one has ever seen Macane anywhere near a looking glass. I will double—nay, treble—your fee if you but maneuver him before a glass!”

  Ellie hesitated. There was little she wouldn’t (honorably) do to earn such a sum, but what was the likelihood of success? She leveled her gaze at her client and infused her voice with as much calm rationality as possible. “If Mr. Macane has a visible reflection, you will agree that I’ve disproved your theory?”

  Miss Breckenridge’s blinding grin bespoke utter confidence. “I will, indeed—because he will not have one. And I know just how to find out. My birthday is but a fortnight from now, and I’ve already planned a three-day party. I shall invite Macane—and you shall attend as well, of course—and we will have done with this investigation once and for all.”

  The five-pound note in Ellie’s purse weighed as much as a five-ton anchor. Her family desperately needed the income, but there was no hope of Ellie attending a three-day party. She’d had to misrepresent quite a few details of tonight’s festivities to garner her mother’s permission for the outing.

  “I apologize,” she said quietly, “but there is no chance at all of my attendance. My mother is quite protective and will never allow me out of her sight for so long. She doesn’t even know where we were tonight.”

  Miss Breckenridge’s eyes widened. “Where on earth does she think you are?”

  “At a local estate . . . helping you find a lost kitten,” Ellie admitted with another furious blush. “If Mama for one moment suspected I attended a soirée, I should never be allowed out of her sight again.”

  The young lady across from her merely laughed in response. “I am a Breckenridge,” she said matter-of-factly, “and no one tells a Breckenridge no. I will call upon you on the morrow to extend the invitation in person. There will be no chance of refusal.”

  Ellie gulped. Miss Breckenridge might consider herself a royal flush, but Ellie’s mother was a wild card more likely to be repulsed than impressed by Quality lineage.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning, Ellie jerked the steel tip of her dip pen out of her mouth for what was surely the hundredth time. She might not damage the dip pen’s metal exterior, but she was certainly flirting with cracked teeth or a splatter-ink moustache.

  She’d woken up with a hunger like never before, and when an entire tray of kippers had failed to dampen the cravings, she’d developed a disturbing oral fixation on anything and everything she could put in her mouth. The sudden desire to chew on household miscellany was just as strong as the unladylike stomach rumblings that propelled her into the kitchen a mere hour after she broke her fast.

  Luckily, her mother’s predilection for staying abed until after noontime meant Ellie was unlikely to be discovered face-first in the larder.

  “Toast? No . . .” Ellie murmured to herself. “Clotted cream? No . . . Boiled vegetables? Definitely not . . . Hrrgmmph?”

  She jerked to a stop as she realized she now had an entire carrot protruding from her mouth. She removed the vegetable and glared at the many tooth marks now marring its surface. She had never liked carrots, and here she was gnawing at one as if compelled to do so. What she really wanted was meat. Surely there must be—aha! An entire slab of . . . Well, Ellie had never been in a kitchen during the actual cooking process, so she wasn’t exactly certain what it was she was staring at, but it was meat, and therefore, food.

  Ellie was thrilled with her find and dying to partake, but how on earth was she to prepare it? Blast. Either she would have to suffer her hunger pangs until lunchtime, or she would be forced to make do with what she had. Biting at her lower lip, Ellie gave in to temptation and reached for the platter.

  “Elspeth!”

  “Aaagh!”

  Ellie whirled around, simultaneously trying to hide the heavy platter behind her back whilst preventing its gravitational slide toward the stone floor. She failed on both counts. Silver clanged to the floor. Pink droplets sprayed the hem of her butter-yellow morning dress. The ill-used carrot rolled to a stop when it collided with the toe of her mother’s slipper.

  “Er . . . good morning, Mama.” Ellie did her best at a sunny, innocent smile and hoped she didn’t have bits of carrot—or ink stains—upon her teeth. “Did you sleep well?”

  Her mother closed her eyes and scrunched up her face as if wishing very hard that she did not have a daughter who skulked about the pantry at half eleven, gnawing on root vegetables and dropping trays of raw meat. This was, of course, a wish destined to remain ungranted, but Ellie sank to her knees anyway and did her best to gather up what had most likely been meant for tonight’s supper. Her mother unscrunched her porcelain face and opened her long-suffering blue eyes
.

  “Elspeth, darling,” Mama began in her softest voice. The one Ellie dreaded above all others.

  Being called “Elspeth darling” was never a good sign, nor was the sight of her mother awake before noon. All indications were for Ellie to flee, and flee now. If she weren’t already on her knees grappling for the fallen carrot, she would have obeyed the impulse.

  “What the devil are you about, girl?” Mama demanded in much put-out tones.

  “I was hungry,” Ellie murmured without looking up. “Just looking for a light repast.”

  Mama’s incredulity was palpable. “A light repast of whole carrots and a pound of venison?”

  “You’re awake a few hours before schedule,” Ellie interjected, hoping some quick misdirection would save her from having to invent an explanation. “What could have possibly dared to disturb your slumber?”

  “The howling of the wind.” Mama pulled her shawl tighter and glared over her shoulder at the frost-specked windows. With luck, she had forgotten about the carrot.

  Having gathered the foodstuffs, Ellie rose to her feet and returned the tray to the larder. The majority of the venison could be salvaged. Ellie had hoped to be a breadwinner, not exacerbate their poverty.

  She shook out her skirts, rolled back her shoulders, and met her mother’s gaze bravely. A wasted effort, of course, since even if Ellie had been decked in finery fit for a queen, she would still be a pale shadow of her mother. Mama awoke from slumber with golden ringlets, big blue eyes, and a perfect cupid’s-bow smile. Ellie awoke from slumber with a lopsided mane of red-blond tangles, bloodshot eyes, and a crick in her shoulder from falling asleep curled up on the library sofa. And an inexplicable yen for raw vegetables.

  “I’ve been thinking . . .” Mama said. Another bad omen. Mama tended to think things like you would look lovely in orange damask, or why don’t you read the original text in ancient Latin, or if you don’t stop complaining about your hair, I’ll cut it off and have done.

  Ellie braced herself. “Say your piece.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Mama repeated more firmly but without meeting Ellie’s eyes, “that it’s time.”

  “No.” Ellie’s heart began to gallop. The pantry was suddenly too small to comfortably breathe. “Mother, no. Please.”

  “Elspeth, you knew when we moved here it would not last forever.” Mama’s voice was calm, steady, and vexingly reasonable. “This cannot be a shock.”

  “But why now?” Ellie hated her own powerlessness, despised her inability to keep the panic out of her voice every time she found herself participating in these dreaded conversations. “I truly like it here.”

  Her mother sighed. “You always do. And we cannot stay.”

  “But—but—” Miss Breckenridge flashed into Ellie’s mind, followed quickly by the promise of ten-pound notes and another glimpse of Mártainn Macane. “I’ve made a friend,” Ellie blurted, not certain whom exactly she referred to, and for the moment uncaring. She would employ as much hyperbole as necessary. “How can you ask me to leave when I finally belong for the first time?”

  “I told you not to make friends,” Mama replied, intractably calm in the face of Ellie’s growing desperation. “If you had listened to sound advice, there wouldn’t be anyone to fit in with. End of discussion. Prepare whatever you’d like to bring. We leave by the end of the week.”

  “To go where?”

  “You’ll find out when we get there.”

  “I shan’t go.” Ellie took a deep breath. “You can leave if you like, and post me a letter when you get there. I’m an adult. And I’m happy here.”

  It was more than that, actually. More important than mere happiness. For the first time in her life, Ellie felt useful.

  No—Ellie was useful.

  She investigated specious claims of the idle rich. While her acts were neither heroic nor exciting, she had earned money for her family and was shaping her own life. She enjoyed disproving folktales of werewolves and vampires, and she had absolutely savored the singular experience of dancing in a Society ballroom.

  If she listened to Mama, she’d do nothing but sleep her life away, muddling through depressing bouts of wakefulness encaged in the library with brandy-laden tea and endless stacks of spine-creased books. Ellie knew every printed word in their library by rote, could read them all in their original tongues and discuss them in almost any language, but what was the point of any of it if there was no one to discuss anything with and no chance of experiencing an adventure of her own?

  “You can make all the mulish expressions you want, young lady, but we are leaving. Pack, or don’t pack. If you wish to leave with nothing but the clothes on your back, that’s up to you. But we’re going, and that’s final.” Mama’s perfect brow creased as she gave Ellie a small smile. “Darling, I’m doing this for you.”

  “You always say that.”

  “It’s always true.”

  “And yet, just when I’m comfortable with a place, it’s suddenly time to leave. Why must we flee in dead of night? Why must I keep to myself and never make friends? Would it be so terrible if I were to have a bosom acquaintance? Or attend an opera? Or—or—fall in love?”

  Mama’s vise-like fingers closed around Ellie’s wrist before she registered her mother had even moved. “The opera is overrated,” Mama’s soft, steely voice whispered into Ellie’s ear, “and you will not fall in love.”

  Ellie jerked her arm back. She squeaked in surprise when she actually wrenched it free. Even Mama was visibly shocked. She had always been stronger, in every possible meaning. She won every argument, triumphed in every battle, whether of wits or strength or will. But here they were, toe-to-toe, chin to chin. Ellie’s wrist was sore, but it was free. She was still free.

  For the moment.

  Ellie well knew that she could refuse to leave as much as she’d like, but in the end, if Mama went, she would, too. Partly because she couldn’t afford an overnight in an inn, much less an entire life of independence. But mostly because she loved her mother.

  If Mama would just stay put somewhere, Ellie would be blissfully content. It was the bouncing about she couldn’t stand. Just when a place became comfortable, just when faces started to seem familiar, just when she began to feel at home . . . the next moment she was tossing trunks into a carriage at midnight and racing through a starless countryside to a place even stranger than the last.

  When Ellie had been younger, she’d actually believed her mother when she’d claimed they relocated at random intervals simply because Mama suffered ennui if she stayed overlong in one spot. Recently, however, Ellie had begun to notice a glassiness just at the edges of her mother’s eyes during their inevitable fights. Panic. Whatever the true reasons were, Mama did not force Ellie to pick up roots out of idle cruelty. She was truly as desperate to leave as Ellie was to stay. Mama was just better at hiding it.

  She might not have a grand purpose to life, but Ellie was in possession of an invitation to a house party, and she’d be damned if she would give that up as well without a fight. If she couldn’t have the kind of life she’d always dreamed of, at the very least she wanted to experience the upcoming weekend. And when she left, she would carry the memory with her.

  Mama was staring at Ellie with narrowed eyes and a brow creased with concentration, as if she was hoping to force her daughter to acquiesce with the mere force of her will. It almost worked. Every other time, it had worked. But not today. Today, Ellie stood tall, with her messy hair, her juice-stained hems, and her bruised-but-unfettered arm akimbo on her hips. They both knew she would end up living wherever her mother wished. But Ellie did not have to pack her things right now.

  “My best friend’s birthday is coming up,” she began, toeing the fine line between exaggeration and outright lies. “If you are asking me to abandon her without so much as a word, the least you can do is allow me to accept her invitation to visit first. I may never have the opportunity again. And we can leave the following week just as easil
y as this one.”

  Mama’s frown increased. “Elspeth, darling. Please listen. We are not leaving for me. I do this for you.”

  “Then wait for me.” Ellie relaxed her stance and softened her voice. “Let me call on my friend for the weekend. I will only be gone a few days.”

  “But why would you wish to? You’ve never spent a single night from home.”

  “You’ve never allowed it.”

  “And why should I do so now?”

  “Mother, you don’t have a choice. I’m old enough to mind my manners and not embarrass myself. I’m also old enough to have a little fun. Look at it this way: We will leave soon. If you allow me one small freedom, this will be our last word on the subject. When I return, I will pack peaceably and immediately, and we can set off as soon as you’d like.”

  Her mother’s lips pursed. “And if I cannot agree?”

  Ellie lifted a shoulder. “Then it will be a battle every step of the way.”

  Mama was silent for a long moment. Perhaps she could not fathom why her daughter had lost her habitual obedience.

  For her part, Ellie wasn’t certain when Miss Breckenridge’s invitation had gained such importance, but there was no denying that it had now become the brass ring dangling just out of reach, and she was determined to make one last leap.

  And earn the promised fee. Running away cost more than staying put, and they had enough trouble making it through each day.

  Mama shook her head. “Elspeth darling . . .”

  Ellie longed to collapse her shoulders in defeat. She forced her spine even straighter rather than give the impression of submissiveness.

  “Ladies?” The deep voice came from beyond the pantry, where their sole manservant stood in the shadows bearing a single white card upon a small silver tray. “It appears Miss Ramsay has a visitor.”

  “Who?” Mama demanded, wild-eyed.

  “The card says Miss Lydia Breckenridge.” The manservant proffered the tray.

  If Ellie thought her mother had been blindsided by her daughter’s recent strength of will, Mama was downright apoplectic over the shock of impending company.