“Aside from the neck biting?” Sarcasm was, of course, the lowest form of discourse, but sometimes Alexia couldn’t resist such temptation as her sister offered. That was probably how Countess Nadasdy felt. Which explains those ugly shawls Felicity’s been wearing. She’s been hiding her neck.

They both turned to watch the countess as she conferred with two of her drones. She was moving lightning fast from one task to the next, preparing to defend her territory with both might and cunning and, if Alexia’s eyes were to be believed, a tin of what looked to be pickled herring. The vampire queen had the demeanor and appearance of some sort of small, quick hedge bird—a tit, perhaps. If a tit could kill you with a mere nod of its little feathered head.

“Felicity. What did you tell her about me?”

“Well, anything I could think of, of course. But really, Alexia, your activities are very dull. I fail to see why anyone should be interested in you or that child of yours.”

“You would.”

With her hive busy mustering up troops, the countess flitted back over, sat down, and looked as though she intended to return to tea.

Lady Maccon narrowed her eyes, marched the last few feet to the beautiful cream brocade settee, and placed a very firm and very bare hand on the vampire queen’s forearm. Alexia was a good deal stronger than a proper English lady ought to be, and the countess was suddenly ill equipped to shake off such a grip.

“No more tea.” Alexia was quite decided on this point.

The countess looked from her to her sister. “Remarkable, isn’t it? Sisterhood, I mean. One would never guess it to look at you.”

Alexia rolled her eyes, let go of the countess’s arm, and gave her a look of mild reproach. “My sister cannot possibly have been an effective spy.”

The vampire queen shrugged and reached for her tea—the ordinary kind. She sipped at the bone china cup delicately, taking no pleasure or sustenance from the beverage.

Waste of perfectly good tea, thought Alexia. She looked at Felicity. But, then, the countess probably thought Felicity was a waste of perfectly good blood.

Her sister assumed a dramatically relaxed pose atop the tea trolley, her face petulant.

Alexia reached for a treacle tartlet and popped it into her own mouth.

“You have been conducting some interesting investigations recently, Lady Maccon,” said the vampire queen slyly. “Something to do with your father’s past, if what your sister has relayed is true. And a ghost. I know you are adverse to my advice, but trust me, Lady Maccon, it would be best not to delve too deeply into Alessandro Tarabotti’s records.”

Alexia thought about Floote, who always seemed to know more about her father than he was willing to tell her. Or was allowed to tell her.

“Did you vampires somehow have my father classified? Do you have my butler under a gag order? And now you are corrupting my sister. Really, Countess Nadasdy, why go to such lengths?” Lady Maccon put her hand back onto the vampire queen’s arm, turning her mortal once more.