Heartless: The Parasol Protectorate: Book the Fourth Read online

  HEARTLESS

  The Parasol Protectorate: Book the Fourth

  GAIL CARRIGER

  www.orbitbooks.net

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  Table of Contents

  Extras

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  Sometimes the necessaries are not something that can be researched. With grateful thanks to those who, wittingly or unwittingly, found themselves tutoring my madness: Mom for the holly; Willow for the dates; Rachel my mistress of the emotional red herring; Erin coma goddess; the Iz of continuity; and Phrannish the best wing-chick evah!

  PROLOGUE

  P Is for Preternatural

  Notation to the Records, Subject P-464-AT, Alexia Tarabotti

  Archivist: Mr. Phinkerlington, junior clerk, aethographic transmission specialist, second class

  Subject P-464-AT is with child, sire unknown. Subject removed from London. Subject detached from Shadow Council. Position of muhjah vacant.

  Notation to the Notation to the Records, Subject P-464-AT, Alexia Tarabotti

  Archivist: Mr. Haverbink, field agent, recognizance and munitions expert, first class

  Subject P-464-AT’s pregnancy confirmed as direct result of union with Subject W-57790-CM, werewolf. Impregnation duly verified by scientists in good standing and by Italian Templars (preternatural breeding program discontinued circa 1805). (Please note: Templars classified as Threat to the Commonwealth of the Highest Order, yet their research in this is rated Unimpeachable.) Subject P-464-AT reinstated as muhjah.

  Addendum to the Notation to the Notation to the Records, Subject P-464-AT, Alexia Tarabotti

  Archivist: Professor Lyall, field agent, secretary prime (aka Subject W-56889-RL)

  Werewolf howlers consulted on progeny. Child most likely a soul-stealer (aka skin-stalker or flayer). Templar records reported to indicate this implies ability to be both mortal and immortal. Potentate, Lord Akeldama (aka Subject V-322-XA), concurs. Subject P-464-AT says she believes “the horrible man said something along the lines of . . . a creature that can both walk and crawl and that rides the soul as a knight will ride his steed.” (Please note: suspect “horrible man” is reference to Florentine preceptor of the Knights Templar.)

  Only previous recorded example of a soul-stealer was Al-Zabba (aka Zenobia, Queen of the Palmyrene, no subject number). Understood to be related to Subject V-322-XA, Akeldama. (He won’t reveal the details—you know vampires.) Zenobia most likely result of union between Vampire Queen and Male Preternatural (subjects unknown). It is thus impossible to say if her abilities will be comparable to those of the forthcoming Subject P-464-AT progeny, as this child is the result of Female Preternatural and Alpha Werewolf union. In either case, type of manifestation unknown.

  Suggest new classification for progeny: M for metanatural.

  Additional Addendum for Consideration: Vampires clearly desire progeny eliminated, at expense of Subject P-464-AT. It is this archivist’s belief that it is in the best interest of the Commonwealth to see this child born, for scientific purposes if nothing else. Have consulted with Subject V-322-XA, Akeldama, and believe we have a solution to vampire negativity.

  CHAPTER ONE

  In Which Lady Alexia Maccon Waddles

  Five months! Five months you—dare I say it—gentlemen have been sitting on this little scheme of yours and only now you decide to inform me of it!” Lady Alexia Maccon did not enjoy being surprised by declarations of intent. She glared at the men before her. Fully grown, and a goodly number of centuries older than she, yet they still managed to look like shamefaced little boys.

  The three gentlemen, despite identical expressions of sheepishness, were as dissimilar as men of fashion and social standing could possibly be. The first was large and slightly unkempt. His perfectly tailored evening jacket draped about massive shoulders with a degree of reluctance, as if it were well aware that it was worn under sufferance. The other two existed in far more congenial partnerships with their apparel, although, with the first, dress was a matter of subtlety and, with the second, a form of artistic, nigh declamatory, expression.

  Lady Maccon was not looking fearsome enough to inspire feelings of embarrassment in any gentleman, fashionable or no. Perilously close to her confinement at almost eight months, she had the distinct appearance of a stuffed goose with bunions.

  “We didna want to worry you overly,” ventured her husband. His voice was gruff in an attempt at calm solicitude. The Earl of Woolsey’s tawny eyes were lowered, and his hair might actually have been dampened.

  “Oh, and the constant vampire death threats are so very restful for a woman in my condition?” Alexia was having none of it. Her voice was shrill enough to disturb Lord Akeldama’s cat, normally a most unflappable creature. The chubby calico opened one yellow eye and yawned.

  “But isn’t it the most perfect solution, my little lilac bush?” exalted Lord Akeldama, petting the cat back into purring, boneless relaxation. The vampire’s discomfiture was the most manufactured of the three. There was a twinkle in his beautiful eyes, however downcast. It was the twinkle of a man about to get his own way.

  “What, to lose possession of my own child? For goodness’ sake, I may be soulless and I am, admittedly, not precisely maternal, but I am by no means heartless. Really, Conall, how could you agree to this? Without consulting me!”

  “Wife, did you miss the fact that the entire pack has been on constant bodyguard duty for the past five months? It’s exhausting, my dear.”

  Lady Maccon adored her husband. She was particularly fond of the way he strode about shirtless in a fit of pique, but she was finding she didn’t actually like him at the moment—the fathead. She was also suddenly hungry, a terrible bother, as it distracted her from her irritation.

  “Oh, indeed, and how do you think I feel being on the receiving end of such constant supervision? But, Conall, adoption!” Alexia stood and began to pace about. Or, to be more precise, waddle fiercely. For once, she was blind to the gilded beauty of Lord Akeldama’s drawing room. I should have known better than to agree to a meeting here, she thought. Something untoward always occurs in Lord Akeldama’s drawing room.

  “The queen thinks it’s a good plan.” That was Professor Lyall joining the fray. His was probably the most genuine regret, as he disliked confrontation. He was also the one truly responsible for this plot, unless Alexia was very wrong in her estimation of his character.

  “Bully for the ruddy queen. Absolutely not—I refuse.”

  “Now, Alexia, my dearest, be reasonable.” Her husband was trying to wheedle. He wasn’t very good at it—wheedling looked odd on a man of his proportions and monthly inclinations.

  “Reasonable? Go boil your head in reasonable!”

  Lord Akeldama tried a new tactic. “I have already converted the room next to mine into a positively charming nursery, my little pomegranate seed.”

  Lady Maccon was really quite shocked to hear that. She paused in her wrath and her waddling to blink at the vampire in surprise. “Not your second closet? Never that.”

  “Indeed. You see how seriously I am taking this, my dearest petal? I have relocated clothing for you.”

  “For my child, you mean.” But Alexia was impressed despite herself.

  She looked to Lyall for assistance and tried desperately to calm herself and behave as practically as possible. “And this will stop the attacks?”

  Professor Lyall nodded, pushing his spectacles up with one finger. They were an affectation—he had no need of them—but they gave him something to hide behind. And something to fiddle with. “I believe so. I have no
t, of course, been able to consult with any queens outright. The hives refuse to admit to an extermination mandate, and BUR has not yet determined how to prove definitively the vampires are”—he coughed gently—“trying to kill your child. And by default, you.”

  Alexia knew that the Bureau of Unnatural Registry was handicapped by a combination of paperwork and proper appearances. That is to say, because it was the enforcing body for England’s supernatural and preternatural subjects, it had to seem at all times to be obeying its own laws, including those that guaranteed the packs and the hives some level of autonomy and self-governance.

  “Monsieur Trouvé’s homicidal mechanical ladybugs?”

  “Never did trace the vampires’ agent in Europe.”

  “The exploding gravy boat?”

  “No appreciable evidence left behind.”

  “The flaming Mongolian poodle?”

  “No connection to any known dealer.”

  “The poisoned dirigible meal that Mr. Tunstell consumed in my stead?”

  “Well, given the general foulness of food while floating, that could simply have been a coincidence.” Professor Lyall removed his spectacles and began to clean the clear lenses with a spotless white handkerchief.

  “Oh, Professor Lyall, are you making a funny? It doesn’t suit you.”

  The sandy-haired Beta gave Lady Maccon a dour look. “I am exploring new personality avenues.”

  “Well, stop it.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Alexia straightened her spine as much as her protruding belly would allow and looked down her nose at Professor Lyall where he sat, legs crossed elegantly. “Explain to me how you have arrived at this solution. Also, given that you have not proposed this scheme to the hives, how do you know with such confidence that it will stop this annoying little tick they seem to have developed wherein they continually try to murder me?”

  Professor Lyall looked helplessly at his coconspirators. Lord Maccon, with a wide grin, slouched back into the golden velvet settee, making it creak in protest. Neither Lord Akeldama nor any of his drones were built to Lord Maccon’s scale. The couch was overwhelmed by the experience. It had this in common with a good deal of furniture.

  Lord Akeldama merely continued to twinkle unhelpfully.

  Clearly surmising that he had been left out to dry, Professor Lyall took a long breath. “How did you know it was my idea?”

  Alexia crossed her arms over her very ample chest. “My dear sir, give me some credit.”

  Professor Lyall put his glasses back on. “Well, we know that the vampires are afraid of what your child could be, but I think they are wise enough to know that if raised with the proper precautions, even the most natural-born predator will behave in an entirely civilized fashion. You, for example.”

  Alexia raised an eyebrow.

  Her husband snorted derisively.

  Professor Lyall refused to be intimidated. “You may be a tad outrageous, Lady Maccon, but you are always civilized.”

  “Hear, hear,” added Lord Akeldama, raising a long-stemmed glass and then taking a sip of the pink fizzy drink within.

  Lady Maccon inclined her head. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

  Professor Lyall soldiered bravely on. “It is vampire nature to believe that any vampire, even—you’ll pardon the insult, my lord—Lord Akeldama, will instill the correct ethical code in a child. A vampire father would ensure the baby is kept away from the corruption of Americans, Templars, and other like-minded antisupernatural elements. And, of course, you, Lord and Lady Maccon. Simply put, the hives will feel like they are in control, and all death threats should stop as a result.”

  Alexia looked at Lord Akeldama. “Do you agree with that prediction?”

  Lord Akeldama nodded. “Yes, my dearest marigold.”

  The earl was beginning to look less annoyed and more thoughtful.

  Professor Lyall continued. “Lord Akeldama seemed the best solution.”

  Lord Maccon wrinkled his nose at that and huffed derisively.

  Professor Lyall, Lord Akeldama, and Alexia all pretended not to hear.

  “He is more powerful than any other rove in the area. He has a goodly number of drones. He is centrally located, and as potentate, he carries the authority of Queen Victoria. Few would dare interfere with his household.”

  Lord Akeldama tapped Lyall playfully with the back of one hand. “Dolly, you flatterer, you.”

  Professor Lyall ignored this. “He is also your friend.”

  Lord Akeldama looked up to his ceiling, as though contemplating possible new canoodling for the painted cherubs depicted there. “I have also implied that because of a certain unmentionable incident this winter, the hives owe me a debt of honor. My potentate predecessor may have taken matters into his own lily-white hands, but the fact remains that the hives should have exerted some control over his activities on their behalf. His kidnapping of my droney poo was utterly inexcusable, and they are very well aware of that little fact. I hold a blood debt and intend to bite them back with this arrangement.”

  Alexia looked at her friend. His posture and demeanor were as relaxed and frivolous as ever, but there was a hardness about his mouth that suggested he actually meant what he was saying. “That is a rather serious statement coming from you, my lord.”

  The vampire smiled, showing fang. “Better revel in the experience, my little cream puff. It will probably never occur again.”

  Lady Maccon nibbled at her lower lip and went to sit in one of Lord Akeldama’s more upright chairs. She found it tricky these days to extract herself from couches and love seats and preferred simply not to get involved with plushy furniture.

  “Oh, I can’t think.” She rubbed at her belly, annoyed at the fuzziness in her own brain, the persistent product of lack of sleep, physical discomfort, and hunger. She seemed to spend all her time either eating or dozing—sometimes dozing while eating and, once or twice, eating while dozing. Pregnancy had given her a new window into the human capacity for consumption.

  “Oh, blast it, I’m positively starving.”

  Instantly, all three men proffered up comestibles extracted from inner waistcoat pockets. Professor Lyall’s offering was a ham sandwich wrapped in brown paper, Lord Maccon’s a weather-beaten apple, and Lord Akeldama’s a small box of Turkish delight. Months of training had seen the entire werewolf household running attendance on an increasingly grumpy Alexia and learning, to a man, that if food was not provided promptly, fur might fly, or worse, Lady Maccon would start to weep. As a result, several of the pack now crinkled as they moved, having desperately stashed snacks all about their personage.

  Alexia opted for all three offerings and began to eat, starting with the Turkish delight. “So you are genuinely disposed toward adopting my child?” she asked Lord Akeldama between bites, and then looked at her husband. “And you are willing to allow it?”

  The earl lost his amused attitude and knelt before his wife, looking up at her. He put his hands on her knees. Even through all her layers of skirts, Alexia could feel the wide roughness of his palms. “I’m taxing BUR and the pack to keep you safe, wife. I’ve even contemplated calling in the Coldsteam Guards.” Curse him for looking so handsome when he came over all bashful and sincere. It quite undid her resolve. “Not that I would do it any differently. I protect my own. But Queen Victoria would be livid if I pulled military strings in a personal matter. Well, more livid than she already is over my killing the potentate. We must be clever. They’re older and craftier and they’ll keep trying. We canna continue on like this for the rest of our child’s life.”

  Perhaps he has learned something about pragmatism being married to me, Alexia thought. Oh, but why’d he have to turn all sensible now? She tried desperately not to fly into a tizzy over his unilateral handling of the situation. She knew that it cost Conall a terrible price to admit to any kind of inability. He liked to think he was all-powerful.

  She cupped his cheek with her gloved hand. “But this i
s our baby.”

  “Do you have a better solution?” It was an honest question. He was genuinely hoping she could think up an alternative.

  Alexia shook her head, trying not to come over mawkish. Then she firmed up her mouth. “Very well.” She turned to Lord Akeldama. “If you intend to take possession of my child, then I’m moving in, too.”

  Lord Akeldama didn’t miss a beat. He opened his arms wide as though to embrace her. “Darlingest of Alexias, welcome to the family.”

  “You do realize I may have to take up residence in your other closet?”

  “Sacrifices, sacrifices.”

  “What? Absolutely not.” Lord Maccon stood and glared down at his wife.

  Lady Maccon got that look on her face. “I’m already in London two nights a week for the Shadow Council. I’ll come in on Wednesday and stay through to Monday, spend the rest of the week at Woolsey.”

  The earl could do math. “Two nights? You’ll give me two nights?! Unacceptable.”

  Alexia wouldn’t budge. “You’re in town on BUR business most evenings yourself. You can see me then.”

  “Alexia,” said Lord Maccon on a definite growl, “I refuse to petition for visiting rights with my own wife!”

  “Tough cheese. I am also this child’s mother. You are forcing me to choose.”

  “Perhaps, if I may?” Professor Lyall interjected.

  Lord and Lady Maccon glowered at him. They enjoyed arguing with each other almost as much as they enjoyed any other intimate activity.

  Professor Lyall called upon the sublime confidence of the truly urbane. “The house adjacent is to let. If Woolsey were to take it on as a town residence, my lord . . . ? You and Lady Maccon could maintain a room here at Lord Akeldama’s but pretend to live next door. This would keep up the appearance of separation for when the child arrives. You, Lord Maccon, could spend meals and so forth with members of the pack while they are in town. Of course, parts of the month everyone would have to return to Woolsey for security purposes, and there’s hunting and runs to consider. But it might work, as a temporary compromise. For a decade or two.”