Biffy, too, was beginning to assume his old dapperness, as though this were actually a social call. As though he were not half naked in a vampire’s drawing room. As though he had not just tried to kill them both.

Lady Maccon had always admired Lord Akeldama’s ability to remain patently unruffled by the world about him. It was as commendable as his never-ending efforts to ensure that his own small corner of London was filled with nothing but beauty and pleasant conversation. But sometimes, and she should never say such a thing openly, it smacked of cowardice. She wondered if the immortal’s avoidance of life’s ugliness was a matter of survival or bigotry. Lord Akeldama did so love to know all the gossip about the mundane world, but it was in the manner of a cat amusing himself among the butterflies without a need to interfere should their wings get torn off. They were only butterflies, after all.

Lady Maccon felt it behooved her, just this once, to point out the wounded wingless insect before him. Soullessness may confer practicality, but it did not always confer caution. “Gentlemen, you may place my abruptness at the door of my current condition, but I am not in the mood to tolerate idiosyncrasies. Circumstances have placed us all in an untenable position. No, Biffy, I do not mean your unclothed state—I mean your werewolf one.”

Both Lord Akeldama and Biffy looked at her, mouths slightly agape.

“The time has come to move onward. Both of you. Biffy, your choices were taken from you, and that is regrettable, but you are still an immortal—and not dead—which is more than most can say.” She turned her baleful look upon the vampire. “And you, my lord, must let go. This is not some contest you have lost. This is life, or afterlife, I suppose. For goodness’ sake, stop wallowing, both of you.”

Biffy looked duly chastised.

Lord Akeldama sputtered.

Lady Maccon tilted her head in such a way as to dare him to deny the truth in her words. He was certainly old enough to know himself; whether he cared to admit such a fault out loud remained to be seen.

The two men looked at each other, their faces tight.

It was Biffy who closed his eyes a long moment and then nodded briefly.

Lord Akeldama lifted one white hand and trailed two fingers down the side of his former drone’s face. “Ah, my boy. If it must be so.”

Lady Maccon could be merciful, so she moved the conversation on. “Biffy, how did you get out of Woolsey’s dungeon?”

Biffy shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t remember much when I’m a wolf. Someone must have unbolted the cell door.”

“Yes, but why? And who?” Alexia looked suspiciously at Lord Akeldama. Was he meddling?

The vampire shook his head. “Not me or mine, I assure you, blossom.”

A loud knock sounded at the door to the drawing room, all the warning they got before it burst open and two men came stomping in.