“Why would I stay long enough for the theft to be noticed?” Imogene defended herself with logic.
Logic never worked on vampires. “Perhaps you thought you could lie to us and keep your place, steal more technology for revenge and profit. Perhaps there is something else holding you here.” She glanced significantly at Genevieve.
The inventor blustered, “This is ridiculous. You are manufacturing the accusation to get rid of her.”
The countess only sneered, showing a fang. “I have rendered judgment and the judgment of the hive is sacrosanct.”
She gave a nod and two drones stepped forward, one to either side of Genevieve.
Imogene reached for her cravat pin.
Dr Caedes grabbed her. His mouth was open wide, his fangs clearly visible.
The countess gave a tight smile. “This is for your own good, Genevieve Lefoux. Can’t you see this girl is killing you? You’ve lost a great deal of weight recently, and I suspect poison on top of everything else. You are my indenture, and your work is valuable to this hive. We cannot risk your health or her crafty ways. She is expendable. Doctor, if you would?”
The vampire ripped Imogene’s gown, exposing one whole side of her neck. Imogene fought to keep herself from shaking. She fought to find her old faithful friend, that up-tilted nose. Arrogance in death. But she couldn’t find it, because she didn’t need it anymore; she had given it up for Genevieve.
Genevieve struggled futilely against the drones holding her. She arched up, kicking out and back, but they gripped vice-like and she couldn’t break free.
The Duke of Hematol said, “This is a bad business, my queen. The girl is neither your indenture nor your drone.”
“But it was my technology! It is my right to control my hive. Doctor, you may proceed.”
A resounding crash at the front door, a rushing huffing noise, and suddenly the room was filled with dogs.
Not dogs, wolves.
Werewolves.
The biggest and the shaggiest of these stopped in front of Imogene, between her and the queen.
Lady Alexia Maccon, wearing a very nice plaid carriage dress, jumped off.
She’d been riding him.
Astride!
She raised what looked like an exceptionally ugly and rather frivolous parasol and pointed it at the vampire queen.
Her voice was calm and cool. “Now, now, now, Countess. That is my indenture. If you wish to have your house cleaned, I should be happy to do it for you.” The parasol waved menacingly. Or it would have been menacing if it hadn’t been so frilly.
Each vampire in the room was now flanked by two wolves. The largest one, whom Imogene had to assume was Lord Maccon, insinuated himself between her and Dr Caedes, breaking the vampire’s grip almost casually.
One of the others, a big, beautiful white wolf with icy blue eyes, had separated Genevieve from her captors, knocking both drones down, and was standing over one with a look of wicked delight, growling.
Genevieve ran to Imogene and wrapped shaking arms about her.
“I didn’t think they would make it in time.”
“You summoned the London Pack?”
“At supper, the moment the countess said she wished to see you tonight, I excused myself and sent an aetherogram to Lady Maccon.”
Countess Nadasdy was on her feet. “You have no right to interfere! To invade my hive! Slavering dogs!”
Alexia Maccon made a ppttttt noise at the vampire queen. “I am muhjah.” She gestured with her parasol at her wolf husband. “And he is head of BUR. I can guarantee that what you are doing to this girl violates both my authority and his. Which one of us would you prefer enacted justice?”
Lord Maccon bared his teeth and growled. It was a great deal scarier than when the white wolf did it.
Lord Ambrose leapt to protect his queen.
“It is my right to punish her. She stole hive secrets.” Countess Nadasdy would not drop the false accusation. She was the doglike one at the moment, teeth sunk into an Imogene-shaped bone that she refused to let go.
Lady Maccon was not impressed. “Oh, yes? Have you proof?”
“She is poisoning Madame Lefoux!”
“Genevieve?”
“It is true, I have not been eating well, but that is…”
Lady Maccon finished the sentence for her. “More likely your fault than that poor girl’s? Where is your proof, Countess?”
The queen only hissed. “But I know she did it. I want her gone!”
Lady Maccon sighed. “In the absence of proof, corporal punishment is not permitted, not even within a hive. However, I agree, I should remove Imogene from Woolsey for her own protection.”
“No!” cried Genevieve, as if the word were wrested from her. “That is not what I wanted!”
Lady Maccon turned on her friend. “I’m beginning to think you don’t know what you want, and poor Imogene is suffering for your indecision. Think of her well-being, my dear, do.”
Genevieve fell silent.
The countess gave a truculent pout like a little child and not some centuries-old immortal. “Very well.”
In an aside, Lady Maccon said to Imogene, “I should prefer we put this whole sorry mess to bed at this juncture. So, make your good-byes and we’ll be off. Biffy, would you… Channing? You’re volunteering? How bizarre.” The big white wolf had trotted over and was waiting patiently at Imogene’s side.
Genevieve, much to everyone’s surprise (including, apparently, her own) kissed Imogene – swift and hard. Then, capturing her face in both callused hands, she said fiercely, “You’ll love London.”
Imogene nodded, mute and confused. Except that you won’t be there. And the laboratory won’t be there. And Skoot, and—
“Mount up,” said Lady Maccon, not unkindly. “You’ll have to ride astride. Grab the ruff like so. Don’t worry, pull as hard as you like, you can’t hurt him. And in Channing’s case, even if you could, he likely deserves it.”
Imogene, much embarrassed, hiked up her skirts as Lady Maccon had demonstrated and slid astride the massive white wolf. She had to tuck up her legs, because she was taller than Lady Maccon, but Major Channing was as rangy a wolf as he was a man and carried her easily.
He lolled his tongue at her, delighted by her discomfort.
She wrapped her hands in his ruff.
“Got a good grip?” Lady Maccon asked.
Imogene nodded.
And they were off.
* * *
Imogene had never ridden a horse, so she’d no basis for comparison, but it was very fast. Werewolves could move with supernatural speed, and it seemed that in no time at all, they’d left Barking for the fields, then left the fields for the suburbs, then left the suburbs for the city.
London was amazing. It was bigger, and louder, and smokier than Imogene could’ve imagined. It was crowded with houses, cheek-to-cheek, and stacked on top of one another, filthy with soot. The streets were filled with all manner of humanity inside all manner of conveyance from carts to matched teams pulling elaborate carriages to steam locomotives to monowheels (she’d seen a sketch in the lab) and beyond.
Above the city, the sky seemed positively crowded with dirigibles. Imogene had thought the few she’d seen floating about the countryside were remarkable. These were even more impressive. Some were chubby postal carriers while other sleeker airships formed military floatillahs. There were tiny ones privately owned, and massive trans-Channel transports heading east.
The pack house was in (what Imogene surmised was) a very nice part of town. Oddly, it was connected (by means of a covered bridge behind a holly tree) to the overdressed house next door. Imogene wondered if they shared staff; why else build a passage between two homes?
Perhaps it was a werewolf thing.
Lady Maccon jumped off at the stoop with the ease of long practice. The front door was opened by an efficient-looking butler. She trotted up, waving at Imogene
to follow.
Imogene climbed off her ride’s fuzzy back. “Thank you very much for the lift, Major Channing.”
The white wolf wagged his tail at her.
“You aren’t coming in?”
He inclined his head to where Lord Maccon was already leading the rest of the pack away.
Lady Maccon said from the doorway, “They’re off for a run. Be back in a bit.”
Inside, the house was humming with activity. Imogene got a glimpse of what Woolsey Castle must have been like before the hive took it over. The walls were modestly bare and the furnishings very solid and rather sparse. A few of the receiving rooms were richly decorated in a tasteful masculine style, but there were no claw marks or scratches so far as she could see.
Lady Maccon led her upstairs. “You keep daylight hours, I understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Genevieve said she found it easier in the country. Appalling idea, all that sunlight. We’re night folk in this household, obviously. So, I’m afraid we will all be up and about while you sleep. I’ve a council meeting and Conall has his BUR duties to consider. The pack will return, make an obscene amount of noise, and then be off again. I’m sorry if they wake you.”
She led Imogene to a lovely little guest room in the family section of the house.
“Oh, Lady Maccon, this is too much. I’m only a parlourmaid.”
Lady Maccon frowned. “I thought you were Genevieve’s assistant.”
“Well, yes, now, or until recently. But before that, I was a maid.”
Lady Maccon shrugged. “Well, this will do either way, won’t it? You must be tired. Stop fussing and get some rest. We’ll talk later when you’ve had a chance to orient yourself. I’ll check in on you before I go to bed in the morning. Sound good?”
She certainly did like to manage things, Lady Maccon.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good night, Imogene.”
“Good night, ma’am.”
* * *
Imogene spent a week in the London Pack house. She missed the noises of the lab, and the scent of vanilla, and the sidelong flash of hunger from Genevieve’s eyes.
But London was an education. Not only because Lady Maccon gave her books to read to occupy her time. (“No, we don’t have any poetry, dear, can’t see the use in it, myself.”) No one found her questions intrusive, so Imogene learned a great deal about how wolf packs functioned. The Maccons gave Imogene no duties, nor did they impose on her in any way. The rest of the pack and clavigers were polite but didn’t know what to make of her. Fortunately, their lives were filled with reacting to the various quirks of Lady Maccon, thus they showed no surprise at Imogene’s presence – considering it just one more quirk. They accepted her as they accepted all strange things that had come into their lives since their Alpha had married.
She met the Maccons’ daughter, a cheerful child with her mother’s forthright attitude and her father’s eyes. No one explained her, and Imogene felt it rude to ask how such a creature could come into existence. She was well protected, spending most of her time next door with her guardian.
Only Major Channing made any kind of effort, and he seemed motivated by pity. He brought Imogene a paper packet of lemon sweets one evening, and roasted chestnuts a few nights later.
“Humans enjoy such things, I believe.”
“You’re too kind.” Imogene had taken to rising before dawn so she could say hello before the pack went to bed.
“Well, poor little bite, you had to go and fall in love with that one.”
Imogene wasn’t going to deny it. She nibbled on a chestnut. “You know Madame Lefoux?”
“Tolerably. Alpha had me track her and Lady Maccon across Europe once, then we had to travel home together. She makes life difficult for herself, I think.”
Imogene nodded, morose. “You’re likely right.”
“I usually am.” Major Channing was nothing if not arrogant. Imogene didn’t mind. She knew arrogance well. Even if he was not about to let her see the cause. His protective walls had been built up for far longer than hers.
And mine pretty much crumbled before one spectacular set of dimples. Well, fine, two sets of dimples. Imogene flinched. She didn’t want to think about Genevieve naked right now.
“Any advice on how to manage her?” Imogene took another bite.
She and Major Channing had settled into a casual almost-sibling relationship in a very short space of time. In any other circumstances, such a quick camaraderie would have felt odd – he had the poshest accent of any man she’d ever met. A werewolf outranked her already, but this one must have started life amongst society’s elite. But everything about her current situation was so surreal, Imogene accepted his brotherly friendship without worry. If before she’d been sleepwalking, now she was in a dream.
The werewolf shook himself. “As if I know anything about women. Nigh on a century and they still confuse me.” He seemed to remember that he was supposed to be a cad. “Of course, I know a great deal about one aspect of women, should you ever wish to switch sides.” He leered.
Imogene patted his cheek in a poor-old-wolf kind of way.
He went on, “But love? Bah.”
“Very helpful, thank you.”
“Have another chestnut.”
* * *
At the end of the week, Imogene was summoned to tea with Lady Maccon. The mistress of the household was spectacularly dressed in a gown of dark green silk split down the bodice in a long V, and slit up the skirt from hem to waist, both slashes showing a quantity of expensive white lace. She’d clearly been visiting someone very important. Her bosoms were well contained, which came as a relief to Imogene.
“Sit down, dear, do. I’m terribly sorry that I’ve have taken so long to get around to your problems. But I could hardly spare the time, I’ve been that busy, and frankly, I think it a good idea to let the countess cool off. And Genevieve stew a little.”
Imogene sat. She herself was in a new dress, Lady Maccon having insisted on supplying her with a whole new wardrobe. Imogene refused anything fancy, but the clavigers could be most insistent. Her gown was cream poplin with pink-and-green embroidered flowers about the skirt, a wide sash at the waist, and a full pleated bodice. There was a little muslin ruffle at the neckline (which was lower than anything she would’ve dared wear at the hive house). It had a robe-like overdress of pink to match. It was prettier than anything she’d ever owned.
Lady Maccon smiled. “I’m sure you’re accustomed to my forthright ways by now.”
Imogene thought Lady Maccon was being kind to herself. Unless by forthright she meant blunt to the point of rudeness. But she was also a gracious hostess.
Lady Maccon continued, “Genevieve is a dear friend. I wish to see her happy.”
“As do I.”
“Good. Very good. So, and not to be too direct, but do you love her?”
Imogene’s odd, confusing dream, full of massive wolves and aggressive bosoms, came crashing down to reality. A reality in which she’d run away from Genevieve, left her alone in that horrible hive. A reality where she was torn between a vampire queen who wanted her dead and an inventor who wanted her, but not enough.
“It is impossible.”
“My dear girl, didn’t you know? Impossible is my specialty. Well?”
“Yes, yes, I do love her. Very much. But she is not interested. Not in the way that matters.” The words tumbled out of her. It was nice to talk about it with someone who apparently didn’t give two figs for the fact that both parties were female. “She is wonderful and so much…” Just as abruptly, Imogene’s words dried up.
“So much Genevieve. Yes, I know. It can be overwhelming, can’t it? She’s been waiting for you, though, I think. A long time. You’re a balance to her. She’s always needed someone to love and love wholly with every part of herself. And you would not make that difficult for her. I think the two of you, together, will suit ver
y well. It’s a matter of convincing her, and you, that you’re the right woman for the job.”
Imogene, despite herself, felt hope rise in her breast. Everything seemed so practical and easy to solve, when Lady Maccon was quizzing it. And to have an ally was quite unexpected. (Well, an ally besides Skoot. Skoot was always on her side.)
The woman rose and began to pace about. “It seems to me that the most immediate problem of the countess’s ire could be solved by keeping you out of the hive house at a sufficient distance from the vampires. The countess can’t leave the house at all, and her tethered males can’t go much beyond the grounds. If we were to place you somewhat beyond the lake – water is often an issue with tethers – that would be extra protection. You could walk to work in the potting shed during the day with no further fang problems. I presume you can cook?”
“Well enough, but not for quality.” Is she going to insist I camp in a field like a vagrant? Or put me to work in a nearby manor house’s kitchen?
“You are my indenture. I’ll increase your remuneration for work in the lab. Genevieve and I will determine the particulars. That way, you’ll have enough income to purchase food at a local market, or wherever it is that one obtains food in the country.”
“We have a greengrocer’s, ma’am, exactly like town.”
“Do you indeed? How modern. Would that work?”
“Admirably. My salary is already sufficiently generous, thank you. But where would I live? The nearest village is too far to walk every day.” My village. Imogene loathed the idea of returning home. To a life of hiding and being scared all the time. Never again. She’d rather risk her neck and stay with the hive.
“I’ve an idea about that too, but we must also solve the other matter.”
“What other matter?”
“Genevieve herself. How to convince her that fool Angelique was a nasty flibbertigibbet nothing, and that you, my dear, are genuine?”
“I am?”
“Most definitely.”
Imogene took a breath, found her courage, and confessed the greatest treasure of her heart. “I think she might love me back, if only a little.”
“Oh, I think she might love you back a great deal. I’ve never seen her so focused on anyone. Back there at the hive, she never took her eyes off you. And she overreacted. Genevieve only overreacts for the people she loves. We’ve been in some pretty sticky situations together, she and I, and she was always cool as the proverbial cucumber until Angelique got killed and Quesnel got kidnapped.”
Romancing the Inventor Page 13