With the octomaton temporarily disabled, the countess sprang into action. So did her drones. They all ran to the open side of the building, the countess moving at speed and clutching Quesnel tight to her breast. Without hesitation, she leaped over the edge and down to the rubble. Quesnel let out a holler of fear at the plunge, quickly followed by what could only be a whoop of exhilaration.

Alexia and Felicity tottered to the edge after them and looked down. Three stories. There was no way they could jump and survive, and there was no other apparent way to get down.

However, they did have an excellent perspective on the carnage and could watch the countess and her vampires race between the tentacles of the octomaton and dash away into the moonlit city, swarming at last. The drones followed a little more judiciously, climbing down out of what was left of the house by degrees and then running after, unable to keep up with the supernatural speed of their mistress.

The octomaton screamed, or Madame Lefoux did, and set its flaming tentacle to burn away the tablecloth that obscured its vision. As soon as it was gone, it took the inventor only a moment to realize that her quarry had escaped. Only Alexia and her sister still stood in the swaying building—a structure that was clearly about to come tumbling down.

The monster turned to track the fleeing vampires. Then it crashed off through the streets, heedless of who or what it crushed. Madame Lefoux either hadn’t seen Alexia’s plight or didn’t care to help her. Alexia hoped fervently it was the former, or her friend was indeed more heartless than she had ever thought possible.

“Bugger,” said Lady Maccon succinctly.

Felicity gasped at her language, even under such trying circumstances.

Alexia looked at her sister and said, fully knowing that Felicity wouldn’t understand what she was talking about, “I’m going to have to arrest her, in the end.”

The hive house yielded to gravity, tilting forward in a slow, reluctant creak.

The two women slid toward the edge. Felicity shrieked, and Alexia, in classic fashion given the tenor of her evening, lost her balance and tumbled forward, also yielding to gravity. She went right over, scraping and scrabbling at the splintered floorboards.

She managed to just hang on. Her parasol fell, landing among wall fragments, bits of art, and torn carpet far below. Alexia dangled, desperately holding on to the side of a wooden beam that stuck slightly out above the abyss.

Felicity had hysterics.

Lady Maccon wondered how long her grip was going to hold, grateful she’d removed her gloves. She was rather strong, but it had been a very long week and she wasn’t up to her prepregnancy standards. Plus she was carrying a sizable amount of extra weight.

Well, she thought philosophically, this is a very romantic way to die. Madame Lefoux would certainly feel cut up about it. So that’s something. Guilt can be very useful.