Lord Ambrose moved and Lady Maccon proceeded toward the hive queen.

The countess dabbed at a bit of blood on the side of her mouth with a white linen handkerchief. Alexia barely caught a hint of fang before they were tucked away behind perfect cupid’s bow–shaped lips. The countess never showed fang unless she meant it. “My dear Lady Maccon, what are you wearing? Is that a visiting gown?”

“What? Oh, yes, sorry. I hadn’t intended to come to your lovely gathering, or I would be more appropriately dressed. But, please listen, you must leave now!”

“Leave this room? Whatever for? It is one of my particular favorites.”

“No, no, leave the house.”

“Abandon my hive? Never! Don’t be foolish, child.”

“But, Countess, there is an octomaton heading in this direction. It wants to kill you and it knows the location.”

“Preposterous. There hasn’t been an octomaton in a dog’s age. And how would it know where to find me?”

“Ah, yes, well, as to that. There was this break-in, you see—”

Lord Ambrose bristled. “Soul-sucker! What have you done?”

“How was I to remember one little invitation from way back?”

The countess went momentarily still, like a wasp atop a slice of melon. “Lady Maccon, who is it that wants to kill me?”

“Oh, too many to choose from? I am similarly blessed.”

“Lady Maccon!”

Alexia had hoped not to reveal the identity of the culprit. It was one thing to warn the hive of imminent attack; it was quite another to expose Madame Lefoux without first understanding her motives. Well, perhaps if my friend had let me in on her reasoning, I might not now be forced into this situation. But in the end, I am muhjah, and I must remember that my duty is to maintain the solidarity of the peace between humans and supernatural folk. No matter Madame Lefoux’s grounds, we cannot have a hive arbitrarily attacked by an inventor. It is not only impolitic, it is impolite.

So, Lady Maccon took a deep breath and told the truth. “Madame Lefoux has built the octomaton. She intends to kill you with it.”

The countess’s big cornflower-blue eyes narrowed.

“What!” That was Lord Ambrose.

The Duke of Hematol made his way over toward his queen. “I told you no good would come of taking in that French maid.”

The countess held up a hand. “She’s after the boy.”

“Of course she is after the boy!” The duke’s voice was harsh with annoyance. “Dabble in the affairs of mortal women and this is what transpires. Octomaton at your doorstep. I warned you.”

“Your complaint was recorded by the edict keeper at the time.”

Lady Maccon blinked. “Quesnel? What has he to do with any of this? Wait.” She tilted her head and gave the countess a look. “Did you kidnap Madame Lefoux’s son?”

Alexia often felt it wasn’t possible for a vampire to look guilty. But the countess was giving the expression a fair facsimile.

“Why? I mean, for goodness’ sake.” Lady Maccon shook her finger at the hive queen as though the ancient vampire were a very naughty schoolgirl caught with her hand in the jam jar. “Shame on you! Bad vampire.”