Professor Lyall turned back to the dim interior with a reluctant droop to his posture. “It’s Biffy, my lady. He really is not handling the curse well this month. He fights it too much, and the more he fights it, the more painful it is.”

“But it’s over a week until full moon! How long will he suffer such bouts of early physiological disjunction?” Poor Biffy. It is so embarrassing—premature transfluctuation.

“Difficult to say. Could be years, could be decades of losing nights around full moon until he has better control. All new pups are like this, although they are not often taken so suddenly or so badly as Biffy. Usually it is only a few days before the moon. Biffy’s cycle is off.”

Alexia winced. “And you could not . . . ?”

Backlit by the expensively bright gas lighting of Lord Akeldama’s hallway, it was impossible to make out the werewolf’s expression. Even if she could, knowing Professor Lyall, his face would not reveal much.

“In the end, I am only a Beta, Lady Maccon. When a werewolf is in wolf form, moonstruck and rampaging, there is nothing that can calm or control him except an Alpha. You must have realized by now that there is much more to Alpha than being simply big and strong. There is power of restraint and wolf-form intelligence as well.”

“But, Professor Lyall, you are very restrained all the time.”

“Thank you, Lady Maccon. There can be no higher compliment to a werewolf, but mine is a matter of self-control only. That does others little good.”

“Except that you lead by example.”

“Except that. And now I should leave you to get dressed. I believe we may expect your results from BUR shortly.”

“My results?”

“Those little OBO bottles of mysterious liquid.”

“Ah, yes, fantastic! Will you please arrange for Floote and I to have the carriage after supper? I must visit Woolsey’s library as soon as possible.”

The Beta nodded. “I have a feeling it will already be commissioned. We’ll have to take Biffy to the countryside for his confinement. His most recent inabilities have resulted in some rather disastrous redecoration of your back parlor.”

“Oh, no, really? And after the drones did such a lovely job with it.”

“We had to lock him somewhere, and that room has no windows.”

“I understand. But claw marks are murder on wallpaper.”

“Too true, Lady Maccon.”

Professor Lyall drifted away and, because he was Professor Lyall, managed to corral one of Lord Akeldama’s drones, just awakened, to help Lady Maccon dress.

Boots stuck his head in before catching sight of Lady Maccon still abed. The head instantly retreated and a back was presented in the doorway.

“Oh, dear me, most sorry, Lady M. Can’t be me. Couldn’t handle it a second time. Not that noble. I’ll go rustle up someone a little more suitable to assist you. Shall I? Be back in a jiff.”

Mystified, Alexia began the laborious process of squirming herself around and lurching by stages out of bed. She was just standing when Lord Akeldama came traipsing merrily into the room. “Top of the evening to you, my blooming marigold! My lovelorn little Boots said you could use a bit of twisting up, and I thought since I was awake I might avail myself of your delicious company and provide much-needed assistance simultaneously.”