Lady Maccon waddled down the passageway and thumped loudly at the contrivance chamber door.

Silence.

Figuring that Madame Lefoux probably could not hear her knock, for inside the chamber was always a cacophony of mechanical noises, she let herself in.

It took her a long moment of scanning over all the piles of machinery, but she eventually became convinced that Madame Lefoux really was not in residence. Nor was her new contraption. The shopgirl had not lied in the interest of social niceties. Madame Lefoux was definitely unavailable. Alexia pursed her lips. Genevieve had said something about relocating in order to put the finishing touches to the latest invention. Alexia debated trying to remember where and following her there or simply leaving the papers behind. They’ll probably be safe enough. She placed them on a nearby metal tabletop and was about to depart when she heard something.

Alexia had no werewolf’s hearing to be able to note some strange noise among the rattling, humming, hissing clatter. Even without the Frenchwoman in residence, some machines never ceased their activity. But she definitely heard another sound, an underlying keen to the rattles that might, or might not, be human in origin.

It might also be a very excited mouse.

Lady Maccon contemplated not getting involved. She also contemplated not using her parasol—after all, some of the machines in that chamber might be engaged in some delicate feat of manufacturing that could not afford to be paused midclatter. In Alexia’s case, contemplation was never signified by more than a pause before performing the action she would have taken, contemplation or no.

She took her parasol firmly in hand, raised it high above her head, and activated the magnetic disruption emitter by pulling down on the appropriate lotus leaf in the handle with her thumb.

Silence descended—the unnatural silence of work stilled midmotion. If Alexia had been a fanciful girl, she would have said it was like time freezing, but she wasn’t, so she didn’t. She merely listened for the one sound that didn’t stop.

It came, a low keening wail, and Alexia realized that she was familiar with just such a noise. Not a sound made by the living, but still a sound made rather than a sound manufactured. It was the intermittent sharp cry of second-death, and Alexia had a pretty good guess as to who was suffering it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Formerly Beatrice Lefoux

Formerly Lefoux. Formerly Lefoux, is that you?” Alexia tried to make her voice gentle.

The silence stretched and then the faraway screaming came again.

There was something inexorably sad about the sound, as though it were that much worse to die a second time. It moved even Lady Maccon’s practical heart. “Formerly Lefoux, please, I will not harm you. I promise. I can bring you peace, if you would like, or simply be here with you. I promise, no soulless touch unless you request it. Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing I could do. I don’t even know where your body is kept.”