“Terrible tragedy. What was it again?” No doubt Lord Akeldama knew, but was testing them. Crispin watched him slow blink, like a cat, and wondered if vampires had to remember to blink or if they still did it naturally, even though they were undead.
“Exploding wicker-work Aves Galliformes of some kind. Woven willow twigs can be so very dangerous, don’t you feel? Never countenance the stuff, myself.” Bertie was deadpan. The vampire wasn’t going to get one up on him.
“Nor I, dear boy, nor I. Although it has its place. Outside, on lawns and such, in my humble opinion. Was Lord Rashwallop going mad? That was the rumor. He was by far the oldest vampire in that hive.”
Bertie tilted his head. “Yes. I heard that too. War Office can neither confirm nor deny. After all, that’s decidedly BUR’s jurisdiction.”
“I didn’t know BUR dealt in wicker.”
“They don’t. But the Dewan has been known to dabble.”
“Interesting.” The vampire paused his fluttering. His sharp eyes turned to Crispin, suddenly, as if he’d only just remembered he was there. Crispin gave him a head tilt. Lord Akeldama returned a small smile. “Very interesting.”
Bertie pressed on. “Yes, but beside the point.”
“Oh, Bertie-blossom, never say you have a point!”
Cris had to admit he was warming to the vampire, now that the man wasn’t trying to actively recruit him.
Bertie seemed to feel the need to be very clear. “So the baroness has sequestered herself, the hive is diminished, and everyone is worried. They are fully funded. They are not known as vampires, but as local and eccentric aristocracy. They had fully integrated into the local upper classes and we had thought the hive quite stable. Now this.”
Cris presumed this explanation was mostly for his benefit. As the supernatural set rarely impacted his missions, Cris paid very little attention to vampire society.
The vampire looked thoughtful. “BUR believes she might actually be headed towards the final Goth state of depressive insanity?”
Bertie nodded.
“Blood will flow,” intoned Lord Akeldama.
“Yes, it usually does when vampires lose their willies.”
Lord Akeldama gave a tiny little frown. “She’s not very old. It seems precipitous for her to take the velvet path of colorless doom so soon.”
“But with a hive that small and weak? How frayed are her tethers?” Bertie respectfully countered.
“I see your point, sweetness. And a very sharp point it is.”
Cris felt it was time he asserted himself. “How long has it been since she successfully conducted a metamorphosis?”
Bertie frowned. “I don’t have the hive paperwork to hand. I’ve collected it in the study to pass along to you, of course, to read on your way up. But I believe that would be Justice Wignall. He was turned just before the first Napoleonic War.”
Crispin looked at their visiting vampire. “That’s not too bad for a queen.” He was guessing. Fortunately Lord Akeldama concurred, so Cris didn’t feel like a complete idiot.
“No, it’s not. She’s clearly not that weak. Something dire must have set her off. Could be the death, could be something more decorative. You’re right to be worried, my sweet-Bertie-boy. Is that what you had me ’round to ask?”
Bertie nodded. “I’d like your assessment. You’re the only vampire I know capable of an honest assessment.”
“Because I have no hive of my own.”
Lord Akeldama didn’t look as sad as Crispin would have thought when he said it. He’d thought being a vampire rove was something akin to being a werewolf loner. Such a man was packless and lonely – without family. Lord Akeldama didn’t seem to see it that way. If anything, he looked almost pleased by the recognition that rove status gave him a certain objectivity and autonomy, at least so far as the government was concerned.
The vampire stood and inhaled deeply, as if taking to the stage. “I would say it all does sound rather ominous, my sugar plums. And anyone you might send up there is at great risk, especially if Queen Octavine is close to the edge. Although she has a fondness for athletic young men with aggressive jawlines, so you’re in there.” He gave Cris a sly finger wag.
Cris, of course, admitted to nothing.
“It could be something more simple. A swarm might be imminent?” Bertie pressed, hope in his eyes.
Lord Akeldama gave nothing back. “A vampire separating herself from life and sustenance is never a good thing, my lovelies. We are social creatures. Something is gravely wrong. Remember, vampires usually take out their atonement on others, regardless of fault. Nottingham is in danger.”
A dramatic pronouncement from a dramatic vampire. Still, Crispin couldn’t help but shiver. For BUR to be worried was one thing. For the War Office to be activated was another. But for a vampire to confirm that there was cause for concern suddenly made everything feel more pressing and dangerous.
“And now, my darlings, this has been terribly entertaining, but I must be off. There’s this new play I’m simply dying to see.” He tittered. “Well, I would be dying to see it, if I weren’t already dead. Bertie, sweetling, a pleasure, as always. And Sir Crispin, you tasty, tasty thing you, delighted to make your acquaintance. We must meet again sometime soon. Invite me to watch you box sometime, do.”
With which the vampire swept out of the room in grand fashion, presumably intent on seeing himself out.
Cris stood and followed him. Watching to make certain he entirely left the house. Vampire hearing was not to be discounted – at least, that was what he’d always been told.
He returned to Bertie once he’d ensured that the only person likely to eavesdrop on them was Mrs Bagley.
“That was unexpected.”
“Crispy, darling, that was Lord Akeldama. He’s like being suddenly doused with a bucket of warm, delicious gravy.”
Cris could play this game with Bertie if he needed the distraction. “Gravy, hm? Salty, smooth, and tasty, yet profoundly uncomfortable and you’re bound to need a great deal of clean-up afterwards?”
“Exactly.” Bertie was still sitting and had poured himself a fresh cup of tea.
Cris was never going to be good at being still. Bertie was right to accuse him of being an active, sporty sort of chap. Since he was up already, he began to pace around the seating area of the conservatory in tight concentric circles.
“This is outside my expertise, Bertie. You know that. Send me in to fix a human household and all will be well in a heartbeat. Off to a house party with the gentry, and in a day I’ll return knowing everything about everybody and having set them all to rights. But vampires, Bertie? And crazy ones at that. And Sparkles – you really want to send her into this level of mess?”
“She’s our best option. High society is her bailiwick. Vampires are nothing if not high society driven, even the crazy ones. Plus, we’ve got her an entrée under one of her more established identities.”
“The artist?”