Lady Maccon liked full moon. There was something irrepressibly celebratory about it. London came alive with excitement and dark ancient mysteries. Admittedly, there were fangs and blood and equally acrimonious things, but full moon also brought with it blood-sausage pies, candy sugar wolves, and other tasty treats. Lady Maccon was easily ruled by her stomach into approval of any event. It was the poor quality of the comestibles, not the company, that caused her to continually refuse invitation to most public assembly rooms. The rest of the ton thought this snobbish and approved. They did not realize it was solely based on the shabbiness of the provisions.

Apart from the food and the pleasant aspect of dirigibles silhouetted against the moon, Alexia also enjoyed the fact that a night ruled by vampires meant everyone was in their best looks and tip-top manners. While her own taste was, frankly, pedestrian, Lady Maccon did enjoy seeing what all the peacocks had arranged to drape themselves with. In the better parts of London, one could run into almost anything: the latest evening gowns from Paris, floating dresses to the extremes of practicality from the Americas, and the fullest, most complex cravat ties imaginable. One could witness a veritable cornucopia of visual delights merely by driving through the crowded streets.

If Alexia had not been so enthralled, with her face pressed firmly to the carriage window, she would have missed the porcupine. But she was and so she didn’t.

She banged on the roof of the carriage with her parasol, sharp and loud. “Halt!”

The coachman pulled the bays up, right there in the middle of the busy thoroughfare—aristocracy had its privileges and Woolsey’s carriage was crested.

Lady Maccon lifted up the speaking tube she’d recently had installed and belled through to the box.

The coachman picked up his receiver. “Yes, madam?”

“Follow that porcupine!”

“Certainly, madam.” In his years of service to Lord Maccon, the poor man had received far more ludicrous requests.

The carriage lurched to the side, causing Alexia to drop her end of the tube, which swung from its heavy metal cord and whacked her in the arm. There was no high-speed chase—for which Alexia was grateful, as she’d had quite enough of those to last a lifetime, thank you very much!—because the porcupine, which happened to be on a lead like a little dog, was moving at a sedate pace often interrupted by curious bystanders. The creature was obviously out for a stroll for that purpose, to attract interest and attention on a night practically designed for such displays of eccentricity and ostentation.

Eventually, traffic allowed the carriage to pull a little ahead of the porcupine and stop. The coachman came around and let Lady Maccon down in time for her to accost the owner.

“Ah, pardon me, madam,” said Lady Maccon to the young lady in charge of the porcupine before realizing that they were already acquainted. “Why, Miss Dair!”

“Goodness me, Lady Maccon? Should you be in public in your condition? You are looking most encumbered.” The vampire drone seemed genuinely surprised to see her.