Alexia glanced under her eyelashes at the two embroidering men and, in a not-very-subtle movement, tucked the tablet down the front of her dress. Luckily for her, the Templars seemed to find their embroidery most absorbing.
She went on, scanning for the two key Latin phrases “Stalker of Skins” and “Stealer of Souls,” but there seemed to be no further mention of either. She weighed her options, wondering if she should mention the phrase to Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf. As it turned out, the preceptor brought her meal that evening, so she figured she might as well go straight to the source.
She took her time working around to the subject. First she asked him politely about his day and listened to the recitation of his routine—real y, who would want to attend matins six times?—as she ate her pasta in its obligatory bright green sauce. The preceptor had cal ed the long skinny pasta “spa-giggle-tee” or some such sil iness.
Alexia didn’t rightly care, so long as there was pesto on top of it.
Final y, she said, “I found an interesting tidbit in your records today.”
“Oh, yes? I had heard Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf brought them to you. Which one?”
She gestured airily. “Oh, you know, one of the scrol s. It said something about a soul-stealer.”
That got a reaction. The preceptor stood so fast that he knocked over the little stool he had been sitting on.
“What did you say?”
“I believe the other term used in the document was ‘skin-stalker.’ I see you have heard of these creatures before. Perhaps you would care to tel me where?”
Clearly in shock, the preceptor spoke as though his mouth were moving while his mind stil coped with the revelation. “Soul-stealers are known to us only as legendary creatures, more dangerous than you soul ess. They are greatly feared by the supernatural for their ability to be both mortal and immortal at the same time. The brotherhood has been warned to watch for them, although we have not yet encountered one in our recorded history. You believe that is what your child is?”
“What would you do with one if you caught it?”
“That would depend on whether or not we could control it. They cannot be al owed to roam free, not with that kind of power.”
“What kind of power?” Alexia tried to sound innocent as she inched her free hand down the side of her smal stool, preparing to grab it out from under her to use as a weapon if need be.
“I only know what is written into our Amended Rule.”
“Oh, yes?”
He began to quote, “‘Above al this, whosoever would be a brother, you and your profession and faith must deal out death in the name of holy justice against those creatures that stand against God and lead a man unto hel fire, the vampire and the werewolf. For those that walk not under the sun and those that crawl under the moon have sold their souls for the taste of blood and flesh. Moreover, let no brother relax in his holy duty of pure watchfulness and firm perseverance against those unfortunates born to sin and damnation, the devil spawn in soul ess state. And final y, the brothers are hereby commanded to fraternize only with the untainted and hunt down the sickness of spirit within those that can both walk and crawl, and who ride the soul as a knight wil ride his steed.’ ”
As he spoke, the preceptor backed away from Alexia and toward the prison door.
She was taken by his expression, almost hypnotized by it. As had happened during the battle in the carriage, his eyes were no longer dead.
Alexia Tarabotti, Lady Maccon, had engendered many emotions in people over the years—mostly, she admitted rueful y to herself, exasperation—but never before had she been the cause of such abject revulsion. She looked down, embarrassed. Guess it is not such a good thing, infant, to be a soul-stealer. Well, never you mind. Templars don’t seem to like anyone.
As she glanced away, her eye was caught by a flash of red coming along the passageway toward her cel —low to the ground. The two young Templars seemed to have noticed whatever it was as well and were looking in fascination at the object trundling toward them.
Then she heard the ticking noise and the tinny sound of multiple tiny metal legs on stone.
“What is going on?” demanded the preceptor, turning away from Alexia.
Alexia seized the opportunity, stood up, and in one smooth movement, yanked the stool out from under herself and struck the back of the preceptor’s head with it.
There was a dreadful crunching noise and Alexia grimaced.
“I do beg your pardon,” she said perfunctorily, leaping over his fal en form. “Needs must and al that.”
The two embroidering guards leapt to their feet, but before they had a chance to lock the door to Alexia’s cel , a large shiny bug, lacquered red with black spots, scuttled directly at them.
Alexia, stil brandishing the stool, charged out into the hal .
Queen Victoria had been neither as impressed nor as shocked as she should have been upon hearing the term “soul-stealer” spoken in Lord Akeldama’s most salubrious tones. “Oh, is that al ?” seemed to be her reaction. Her solution fit the standards of al monarchs everywhere. She made up her mind and then made it someone else’s problem. In this case, however, Professor Lyal was pleased to find she had not made it his problem.
No, instead, the queen had pursed her lips and delivered an unsavory verbal package into the elegant alabaster hands of Lord Akeldama. “A soul-stealer you say, Lord Akeldama? That sounds most unpleasant. Not to say inconvenient, considering Lady Maccon wil be returned to active service as my muhjah as soon as she can be fetched home. We expect Lord Maccon to have that particular task well under way. It goes without saying, the Crown simply wil not tolerate vampires trying to kil its muhjah, however pregnant she may be and whatever she may be pregnant with. You must put a stop to it.”
“I, Your Majesty?” Lord Akeldama was clearly flustered by this direct instruction.
“Of course, we require a new potentate. You are hereby granted the position. You possess the necessary qualifications, for you are a vampire and you are a rove.”
“I beg to differ, Your Majesty. It must be put to the hive vote, any new candidate to the potentate position.”
“You think they wil not approve your appointment?”
“I have many enemies, Your Majesty, even among my own kind.”
“Then you wil be in good company, potentate: so does Lady Maccon and so did Walsingham. We shal expect you at Thursday’s meeting of the Shadow Council.”
With that, Queen Victoria sailed out of the room, adrift on a sea of self-righteousness.
Lord Akeldama raised himself out of his bow, looking flabbergasted.
“Congratulations, my lord,” said Biffy timidly, attempting to stand shakily from the couch and approach his former master.
Professor Lyal hurried over to him. “Not yet, pup. You won’t have your legs back for a while longer.” He spoke the truth for, despite the fact that Biffy obviously wanted to walk on two legs, his brain seemed set on four, and he pitched forward with a surprised little cry.
Lyal caught him up and deposited him back on the couch. “It wil take some time for your mind to catch up to your metamorphosis.”
“Ah.” Biffy’s voice caught in his throat. “How sil y of me not to realize.”
Lord Akeldama came over as well , watching with hooded eyes as Lyal smoothed the blanket over the young man. “She has placed me in a most insufferable position.”
“Now you know how I feel most of the time,” said Professor Lyal under his breath.
“You are more than equal to the task, my lord.” Biffy’s eyes were shining and ful of faith as they looked upon his former master.
Wonderful, thought Lyal , a newly made werewolf in love with a vampire, and more apt to do his bidding than the pack’s. Would even Lord Maccon be able to break such a connection?
“I rather think the queen is getting the better end of the deal,” added Professor Lyal , intimating, but not actual y mentioning, Lord Akeldama’s fashionable yet efficient espionage regime.
Poor Lord Akeldama was not having a good night. He had lost his lover and his comparative anonymity in one fel swoop. “The pathetic reality is, my darlings, I am not even convinced the child of a preternatural and a werewolf wil be a soul-stealer. And if it is, wil it be the same kind of soul-stealer as it was when the sire was a vampire?”
“Is that why you remain unafraid of this creature?”
“As I said before, Lady Maccon is my friend. Any child of hers wil be no more or less hostile to vampires than she is. Although the way we are currently behaving may sour her against us. Aside from that, it is not in my nature to anticipate trouble with violence; I prefer to be in possession of al the necessary facts first. I should like to meet this child once it has emerged and then render my judgment. So much better that way.”
“And your other reason?” The vampire was stil hiding something; Lyal ’s well -honed BUR senses told him so.
“Must you hound him, Professor Lyal ?” Biffy looked worriedly from his former master to his new Beta.
“I think it best. It is, after al , in my nature.”
“Touché.” The vampire sat down once more next to Biffy on the settee and placed a passive hand casual y on the young man’s leg, as if out of habit.
Lyal stood up and looked down at them both from over his spectacles; he’d had enough of mysteries for one evening. “Wel ?”
“That soul-stealer, the one the Edict Keepers warn us of? The reason for al this twaddle? Her name was Al-Zabba and she was a relative of sorts.” Lord Akeldama tipped his head from side to side casual y.
Professor Lyal started. Of al the things, he had not expected that. “A relative of yours?”
“You might know her better as Zenobia.”
Professor Lyal knew about as much as any educated man on the Roman Empire, but he had never read that the Queen of the Palmyrene had anything more or less than the requisite amount of soul. Which led to another question.
“This soul-stealer condition, how exactly does it manifest?”
“I don’t know.”
“And that makes even you uneasy. Doesn’t it, Lord Akeldama?”
Biffy touched his former master’s hand where it rested on his blanket-covered thigh and squeezed as though offering reassurance.
Definitely going to be a problem.
“The daylight folk, back then, the ones who feared her, they cal ed her a skin-thief.”
That name meant something to Professor Lyal , where soul-stealer had not. It tickled memories at the back of his head. Legends about a creature who could not only steal werewolf powers but become, for the space of one night, a werewolf in his stead. “Are you tel ing me we wil have a flayer on our hands?”
“Exactly! So, you see how difficult it wil be to keep everyone from kil ing Alexia?”
“As to that problem”—Professor Lyal gave a sudden grin—“I may have a solution.
Lord and Lady Maccon wil not like it, but I am thinking you, Lord Akeldama and young Biffy, might find it acceptable.”
Lord Akeldama smiled back, showing off his deadly fangs. Professor Lyal thought them just long enough to be threatening without being ostentatious, like the perfect dress sword. They were quite subtle fangs for a man of Lord Akeldama’s reputation.
“Why, Dol y darling, do speak further; you interest me most ardently.”
The Templars seemed, if possible, less prepared to battle ticking ladybugs than Alexia had been when accosted in a carriage not so very long ago. They were so surprised by their unexpected visitors and were torn between squashing them and handling the now-free Alexia. It wasn’t until one of the ladybugs stuck a sharp needlelike antennae into one of the young Templars, who then col apsed, that the brothers took violently against them.
Once pricked into action, however, their retribution was swift and effective.
The remaining young Templar drew his sword and dispatched Alexia’s noble scuttling rescuers with remarkable efficiency. He then whirled to face Alexia.
She raised her stool.
Behind them, in the cel , the preceptor groaned. “What is going on?”
Since the ladybugs might have been sent either by the vampires to kil her or by Monsieur Trouvé to help her, Alexia could not rightly answer that question. “It would appear you are under attack by ladybugs, Mr. Templar. What else can I say?”
At which moment they al heard the growl. It was the kind of growl Alexia was definitely familiar with—low and loud and ful of intention. It was the kind of growl that said, clearly as anything, “You are food.”
“Ah, and now, I suspect, werewolves.”
And so it proved to be the case.
Of course, Alexia’s traitorous little heart hoped for a certain brindled coat, chocolate brown with hints of black and gold. She craned her neck over her brandished stool to see if the growling, slavering beast charging down the stone hal way would have pale yel ow eyes and a familiar humor crinkling them just so.
