Imprudence (12 page)

Uncle Rabiffano's eyes were sad. But then, they were always a little sad. Yet he left – they left – without acknowledging her.

The London Pack ambled away in a group, heading for the outskirts of town. That group was cohesive and calm. They were off to chase some unsuspecting rabbits. Or perhaps they were going to celebrate at a local pub. Since they were all in wolf form, even Rabiffano, Rue had to assume they were after rabbits and not ale, or the London pubs had relaxed their dress requirements beyond imagining.

And Rue was not welcome among them any more.

R
ue didn't want to go with her parents. She didn't want to see Quesnel preserve her father in a tank in her boiler room.
As if Paw were an enormous gherkin.
But she followed up the gangplank because they needed her to keep the tether.

I've lost all my family in one night. Except Dama. Will he still want me around with Mother and Paw gone?
Rue was wallowing. But there was no one to see, and being a wolf she couldn't cry.

She made her way down through the airship towards the oil and smoke of the boiler room. Had Quesnel predicted this eventuality and that's why there was a tank in engineering? Had he known all along what was going wrong with her pack – with her family – and not said anything?

The man in question, wearing a leather blacksmith's apron over his evening clothes, tinkered with the tank. Her parents watched, Mother with her head on Paw's shoulder and he with one arm about her waist. Rue had seen her parents intimate before, more's the pity, but this time they looked so relaxed. Just as the pack had walking away from her.

Rue wondered about their respective jobs. If they emigrated to Egypt, Lady Maccon must give over muhjah and Lord Maccon must pass on his position as head of BUR. Rue so rarely asked them about their professions, it was entirely possible they had already made arrangements.

Mother probably has, at least. If Paw's been running off the rails for a while now, BUR's likely already filled in an assumed vacancy. But muhjah has to be filled by a preternatural, and there's no other soulless in London. Well –
an aura of satisfaction coloured Rue's thoughts –
Queen Victoria is in a pickle there
.

Quesnel popped the lid of his tank open. It was full of a bubbling orangeish liquid, not boiling but aerated with a colourless gas. Rue sniffed – odourless. too. Oxygen, perhaps? Or aether?

Tasherit appeared, still in lioness shape, and took a spectator's seat. Rue was relieved Primrose wasn't present; her father was, after all, still naked. No doubt Prim had skittered below the moment things went bare during the brawl. Primrose was not equipped to handle regular exposure to male nudity. Which would make her marriage bed quite interesting indeed.

Quesnel stepped back and gestured, with a little bow, like a butler.

Lord Maccon bowed in turn and then hoisted himself up into the tank. It was only just big enough for him, and it didn't look like a comfortable fit. He lowered himself gingerly with a funny look on his face like he was settling into a vat of pudding, squishy but not unpleasant. At the last, he sucked in a breath and sank under. Once completely submerged, he appeared to fall into a deep slumber.

Lady Maccon and Quesnel lurched forward, likely to check that he was asleep and not dead. Rue hadn't the attention to process, for she was shifting. Reverse shape change was no less painful, but it always felt nice, at the end, to be back in her own skin. Rue supposed this was because she spent less time as a supernatural than the real ones; being mortal felt comfortable. Although most of the time it was less interesting.

There were many things Rue could have done in a more dignified fashion at that juncture, but frankly it had been an upsetting night, so she sat on the floor. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms about them, cloaking herself in her own hair, for modesty's sake.

Quesnel and her mother ensured Paw's comfort. Apparently, he was still alive, or as alive as a werewolf got when in a preservation tank.

“This floor is filthy,” said Rue to no one in particular.

The one sootie on duty heard her. The girl tended to her obligations with forced diligence, throwing glances at the corner of the room where naked aristocrats were doing suspicious things with tanks. Rue couldn't blame her for her curiosity.

“Sorry, Lady Captain, it's the boilers, see – full of soot.”

The sootie's response drew Rue out of her funk.
What am I doing huddling here? I'm a fully grown, perfectly respectable young lady. So I've lost my pack and my parents are moving away, but I've the family I've built aboard this ship. Primrose won't abandon me. Primrose would never abandon me. Buck up!

She took a breath and straightened. “Tasherit, would you be so kind as to fetch me a robe?”

The lioness considered this request and then, likely because she knew Rue couldn't do anything interesting if she had to stay huddled, and because the tank situation was proving dull, she trotted away.

She was soon back, clutching a robe in her mouth. It was one of hers, a voluminous silky thing that was too long for Rue but preserved her dignity.

Rue was standing with it on by the time Quesnel finished with his tank. She felt wan and worn but Quesnel looked at her as if she were the pudding course and he hadn't had any supper. Her hair was down and wildly tangled, and the silk of the robe was thin enough so that if she were not in the boiler room, she'd be cold.

Lady Maccon pinched him. “Stop looking at my daughter like that.”

Quesnel rubbed him arm. “But…”

“Just because I disagree with my husband's mollycoddling doesn't mean I'm permissive.”

Rue wondered if Tasherit might let her keep the robe. “Mother, do you still need me?”

Lady Maccon blinked, remembering Rue's purpose there. “No, dear, no. Clearly the tank works on tethers.”

Rue turned to leave. She needed to see Dama. She needed to know he remained unchanged. The sunrise was not far off. She could ill afford to waste time, for she must dress properly for Dama.

A rustle of skirts heralded her mother's running to catch up. “Infant, do you require” – she paused as though unsure of the right word – “comfort?”

It was sweet of her to try.

Quesnel followed, his expression concerned.

“Now, Mother, you know you're horrid at that.”

Lady Maccon was not offended by truth. Rue rather admired her for that.

“No, you're quite right. You'll be visiting your other father?”

Rue nodded. “Soon, before I lose the night.”

Lady Maccon nibbled her lip and then, in a decisive move, folded Rue into a warm motherly embrace. It was a good hug because Mother was lovely and squishy, even corseted. Rue let herself enjoy it, even knowing that her poor old mother couldn't begin to understand why Rue was upset. Lady Maccon was thinking that everything was perfectly fine. Everyone was alive and mostly uninjured. Her plan to emigrate to Egypt was commencing. The pack had transitioned as smoothly as one could hope.

That was how Lady Maccon thought the world worked. She bent it to her will regardless of consequences. That was how Rue had come into existence. It was her mother's nature to be soulless. She couldn't be faulted for it.

Rue extracted herself from the hug. “Thank you, Mother. But I think…”

Lady Maccon waved her off. “Carry on. Your young man and I are going to engage in some nice civilised discourse.”

“We are?” Quesnel was positively horrified by this statement.

“Perhaps I should stay, then,” said Rue. “And he's
not
my young man.”

Lady Maccon only waved at her again. “Oh, I think he might be. Go on, dear, you aren't necessary.”

Rue, remembering how Quesnel and Percy and their ridiculous feud had started the whole messy brawl earlier, felt that he deserved some extended exposure to her mother. So she left them to it.

Dama was waiting for her, bless him.

“
Puggle
, darling!” His embrace smelled of lemon hair tonic and sweet lavender and only a little bit of old blood. He was bony where Mother was soft, and certainly too small to envelop her, but he did his parental best. And he understood, so it worked.

“Sit, my poor dear girl.” Instead of insisting on ceremony, the vampire tugged her to the softest of his sofas, the one facing the fireplace with a little table for reading. He sat next to her, keeping her hand in his, for they both wore thick enough gloves. He was careful not to let any skin touch as he consoled her.

Rue was grateful. She didn't want to be a vampire right now.

“Tell me everything.” His expression was all sympathy.

“Don't you already know?”

“I know the
facts
, my little pea blossom, but not the rest. Has my B—?” A slight mistake there, he collected himself. “Has the pack transitioned?”

Rue nodded. “New Alpha. Uncle Rabiffano, if you can believe that.”

“I am the only one who was never surprised.”

“No, you're good like that.” Rue suspected there was something more than Dama's normal understanding of how the world worked but she didn't want to pry. The London Pack was no longer her business.

“He managed to do it without killing Lord Maccon?”

“Yes.” Rue could see in Dama's eyes the miracle that this was.

“We truly live in a brave new world.” The vampire shook his head. There was real awe in his tone, something Rue had never heard before.

“I suppose if anyone could manage it, it would be Rabiffano. He will be a
good
Alpha, my Puggle. You can trust me to know this.”

Rue hadn't thought if it that way. “I suppose he will. Very cultured, exactly what a London Pack needs.”

“And all those ties to that
horrible
Lord Woolsey will finally be purged.”

“That was before my time, Dama.” Sometimes he forgot how young she was, or maybe it was that he forgot on purpose, knowing how short her life-span would be. It must be horrible for him. How many pack transitions had he watched in his lifetime? How many friends had he seen die because of them?

He patted her hand. “
Of course
it was, periwinkle. But this must have come as
quite
a shock for you. I hope you understand, your father asked us not to say anything to you.”

“I know. He wanted to be my strong solid mooring point for ever.”

The vampire's blue eyes twinkled. “Forgive us immortals our sins of pride, child. We all age like cheese, growing strong and
tasty
but also covered in the mould of good intentions gone grey.”

Rue gave a watery chuckle. “I didn't know I was going to lose him. Now he and Mother will go to Egypt and die.”

“Ah, I see. You knew all along you would lose Alexia, but you had Conall and I stashed away in your heart, unchanging.”

“Exactly.”

“I'm still here.”

“Yes. There's no vampire rove equivalent of Alpha's curse that you aren't telling me about, is there?”

“My
little jumping bean
, you are one of the brightest lights I've been blessed with in my very long time on this earth.” Dama tugged her in to cuddle against him, careful that no flesh touched. “I never thought to have a daughter, not at my age.”

Rue snuggled into him. Dama would fix everything.

“I shall tell you a little secret, shall I?”

“I don't know, Dama. I've had a lot of revelations in the past few hours.”