The house swayed on its foundation. Over half of it was now gone, with only the back section still intact, and there was very little holding that in place. The frame and supports were failing. Alexia had often thought London houses were built with far less structural integrity than even her cheapest bustle.

She waddled closer to the vampire queen, careful not to touch her. “Countess, I know you said practicality wouldn’t come into it, but this would be an excellent time to swarm, if you could but try.”

The countess turned eyes upon Alexia that were dilated black with fear. She drew her lips back in a shriek of wrath, exposing all four of her fangs: Feeders and Makers, the second set being ones that only a queen had. Very little of the sense was left in the woman’s face. In this particular arena, clearly vampires could end up like werewolves, creatures of emotion, dependent only on the little that was left of their soul to save them.

Lady Maccon was not normally an indecisive individual, but in that second she wondered if she might have chosen the wrong side in this little battle. Even though Madame Lefoux was rampaging through London in a highly unlawful and destructive manner, the countess was behaving like nothing more than a child snatcher. Alexia knew she had the capacity to end this. She could reach out and touch the vampire, turn her human and utterly vulnerable and unable to hold on to the wiry and gyrating Quesnel.

She hesitated, for Alexia could not escape logic, even in crisis. The only diplomatic faux pas worse than a hive queen dying at the hand of a scientist would be if she did so at the hand of Lady Maccon, soulless, muhjah, and werewolf lover.

As if to settle the matter, a tentacle came crashing toward them. It knocked Alexia back. She tripped and stumbled on her weakened ankle and, for what felt like the millionth time that evening, fell back upon her bustle.

She landed next to Felicity and so wiggled over to her and slapped her about the face for a bit. Finally, her sister blinked blue eyes open.

“Alexia?”

The infant-inconvenience was rather sick of this kind of overactive, not to say violent, treatment on behalf of its mother. It thrashed in protest, and Alexia lay back suddenly with an “oof” of distress.

“Alexia!” Felicity may actually have been a little worried. She had never seen her older sister show any sign of weakness. Ever.

Alexia struggled to sit back up. “Felicity, we have got to get away from here.”

Felicity helped Alexia to rise, just in time for them to see Lord Ambrose and two other vampires leap at the octomaton in one tremendous coordinated charge. They draped and strapped down a sheet of fabric, what looked to be a very large tablecloth, over the monster’s head. Smart maneuver, for it momentarily blinded Madame Lefoux on the inside. She could neither steer nor attack. The tentacles flailed futilely.