“Genevieve, don’t! You could injure innocents!” Alexia was scared, not just for the hive but also for the drones and her sister, who all seemed to be in the line of squirt.

“Countess, please, you must draw her away. People will die.” Lady Maccon turned her plea on the endangered vampire queen.

But Countess Nadasdy was beyond reason. All her efforts were now focused on protecting herself and her people from annihilation.

The Duke of Hematol reappeared, carrying an undersized grubby boy child in his supernaturally strong arms. If possible, the duke moved even faster than the queen had, coming to a stop before her and thrusting Quesnel’s kicking form into her grasp. Everything stilled.

Quesnel was hollering and thrashing, but upon seeing the octomaton, he seemed more afraid of it than the vampires. He squealed and clutched reflexively at Countess Nadasdy’s neck with one skinny, smudged arm.

The octomaton could not fire without risk of injury to the boy. No modern science had yet devised a weapon, apart from sunlight, that could harm a vampire without also harming a human. One of the tentacles, already falling with deadly force toward the vampire queen, veered away at the last minute, landing with a crash on the laden tea trolley, which had managed to survive the chaos until that moment. It crumpled in half under the blow, spinning fine china, treacle tart, and finger sandwiches in all directions.

So far as Alexia was concerned, that was the last straw. The infant-inconvenience inside her beat a tattoo of encouragement as she strode forward and whacked at the metal tentacle with her parasol and all her might. “Genevieve! Not the treacle tartlets!”

Whack, whack, whack. Twang!

It was, of course, a futile effort. But it made Alexia feel better.

The tentacle’s tip flipped open, and a tube popped forward and out, becoming a bullhorn like those favored by circus ringmasters. The octomaton raised this to one of the slits in its eye. Madame Lefoux spoke into it.

Or at least it sounded like Madame Lefoux. It was odd to hear her cultured, slightly accented, mellow feminine voice coming out of such a big, bulbous creature. “Give me my son and I will leave you in peace, Countess.”

“Maman!” yelled Quesnel to the octomaton. Realizing it was his mother and not some nightmarish monster, he began struggling in the vampire queen’s arms. To absolutely no avail; she was much, much stronger than he would ever be. The countess merely clutched the boy tighter.

Quesnel began yelling in French. “Stop, Maman. They haven’t hurt me. I’m fine. They’ve been very kind. They feed me sweets!” His pointy chin was set and his voice imperious.

Madame Lefoux said nothing more. It was clear they were at an impasse. The countess was not going to let go of the boy, and Madame Lefoux was not going to let them go anywhere.

Alexia edged toward her sister, sensing that very soon the queen would have no recourse but flight. Leaving Felicity behind in this building was, unfortunately, not really feasible, appealing as the idea might be.