Prim clutched at Percy’s arm and let out a small sigh. As if the Alpha’s hat accolades meant something profound. Well, Percy supposed that Lord Falmouth was a noted authority on all things hat. He also possessed a great deal of social standing as London’s first Alpha dandy. It was nice to know his sister had the wolves on her side, if the vampires decided to object to Prim’s choices in hats, or romantic partners, for that matter.
Primrose hadn’t yet told their mother about Tasherit.
Percy hoped his mother wouldn’t ruin everything. He liked Tasherit and he liked Prim with Tasherit. It was nonsense for anyone to feel otherwise. Although, to be fair, their mother was entirely composed of nonsense.
He looked back at Miss Imogene and Madame Lefoux. They’d been together for ages. So it was clearly possible for two ladies to give a good showing.
The conversation had gone on, as usual, without Percy. This is what comes of weddings, he thought glumly. I fritter away my considerable intellect thinking about relationships, and emotions, and my mother.
A lull and Percy could ask something that actually interested him. “How’s the research trundling along these days, Professor Lyall?”
That permitted Percy and the pack Beta a modest scientific discourse, while everyone poured out of the church and assembled to either side of the doorway.
Biffy was soon flanked by members of his pack, most of whom Percy ought to know well enough to name, but didn’t. The only one he did know, the odious Gamma, Major Channing, was not in attendance. Biffy explained that Channing had something to do for the Bureau of Unnatural Registry in Hyde Park.
“Not good at weddings, anyway, our Channing,” explained Professor Lyall.
Percy wondered if he himself might utilize a similar excuse going forward?
Finally Rue and Quesnel, arm in arm and safely wed, walked out. Well, waddled in Rue’s case.
The assembled decklings, sooties, and other scamps from The Spotted Custard let go their dirigible candle lanterns, which floated up into the night. They also set forth a cacophony of hoots and whistles. Everyone else threw flowers, mostly snowdrops, and not bacon. Percy was slightly disappointed.
“Oh, it’s as pretty as I planned.” His sister pressed her free hand to her mouth in an excess of delight.
“You did good, little one.” Tasherit’s voice had that tone it only got around Prim. Warm enough to make Percy uncomfortable.
Biffy said, “You organized the wedding, Miss Primrose?”
“Of course she did.” Percy was moved to defence by the wonder in the werewolf’s tone. “Primrose organizes everything.” Only he was allowed to criticize his sister.
“That was approval, young man, not censure.” Biffy was not at all riled. He was remarkably calm, for a werewolf Alpha. Not at all like Rue’s father, who was, in Percy’s opinion, a temperamental grouch.
Rue and Quesnel did look remarkably happy and pleased with life (even Percy had to grudgingly admit that). Following them came Lord Akeldama and a small bevy of drones. Last out of the church were Rodrigo and Anitra, who’d stood up with the couple.
They’d discussed it being Primrose and Percy in the positions of honour. But Prim wanted to be in the crowd making certain everything went smoothly. Percy flat-out refused. In the end, Rue had been persuaded by the irony of it all, having the cousin who had tried to kill her stand as witness. It held a certain paradox that appealed to her sense of humour. Not to mention that Anitra, wearing her best Drifter robes, all gold fringed and foreign, was a jab in the eye of every British snob there.
For as long as he’d known her (and that was his entire life), Rue hated to do anything the normal way, so Percy was not surprised that she took her vows with an Italian preternatural best man and an aravani matron of honour – damn the consequences.
Dr Ruthven was standing with the decklings. Spoo was bending her ear. Virgil was nearby, sporting an impossibly tall top hat. Percy was glad she’d company but also envious of the two young persons. She was clearly delighted by their antics, clapping as the lantern dirigibles floated up.
Professor Lyall was suddenly next to him. At some point Prim had dropped Percy’s arm and taken Biffy’s instead.
“The Italian who stood up with Quesnel, he looks familiar. Like someone I knew long ago.”
Percy tilted his head. “Rodrigo Tarabotti. Rue’s cousin.”
Professor Lyall started. “Preternatural?”
“Of course. Otherwise Lady Maccon, at least, would be in attendance.”
“I didn’t know.” Professor Lyall was usually so inscrutable. Yet his eyes were suddenly swimming with emotion. Sad? Happy? Bewildered? Lost?
Percy wished he were better at reading people, but he was only good at reading books so he said nothing. This was beyond him.
Professor Lyall recovered. “Floote, I suppose?”
Percy cocked his head. “He kept an eye on him, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“And you lot found him again?”
“Not really. He found us. Tried to kill Rue, got Quesnel instead.”
“What?”
“As you can see, it all worked out, in the end. Quesnel survived and we adopted Rodrigo. His character required reforming. I applied Greek philosophy and then a strong dose of Higher Common Sense.”
“Oh?”
Percy was quite proud of this achievement. “Rodrigo’s not bad, simply soulless. We deduced that a book group might give him a strong ethical foundation. Then he fell in love, so it all worked out.”
“In love?”
“With Anitra. The Drifter woman, next to him. They married at the New Year. Much nicer wedding. None of this fuss and bother.”
Professor Lyall looked strangely pleased. “Yes, that would work. Love usually does, you know? With preternaturals.”
Percy didn’t know, but he’d a working theory and was glad to have it corroborated by an outside source. He’d hate to have Rodrigo go rotten again and have to come up with an entire new course of study. Giving a man a surrogate soul was challenging work. He was pleased to find the solution was to give the man a heart. And even more pleased that it had been Anitra to do so. Percy liked Anitra. She was quiet and kind and never disturbed him in his library.
“Will you introduce me to him, Professor Tunstell?” asked Professor Lyall softly.
“Now?”
“Later. At the reception.”
“I’d be delighted.” An odd request that a werewolf would want to meet a curse breaker. Especially one such as Rodrigo Tarabotti. The Italian had, after all, spent most of his life hunting and killing werewolves.
“And perhaps I might visit The Spotted Custard one night before you leave? I should like to speak with Formerly Floote.”
Percy shrugged. “I’m not the ship’s secretary of supernatural encounters.” The Beta looked taken aback, so Percy hurried on. “You’re welcome to try. He can be eccentric, like most ghosts.”
“He’s still cohesive?”
“Mostly. The Lefoux tank is a work of genius.”
“Yes. She’s brilliant.”
“I think this one is mostly Quesnel’s doing.” Percy didn’t like to give such credit to the man, but he strove for truth in all things, and Quesnel was a shipmate.