“He is still upset at having to give up snuff.” Lord Akeldama smiled only slightly at her attempted lightheartedness, so Alexia adopted his serious tone. “Not as well as he could be. My husband thinks, and I am inclined to agree with him, there is something holding him back. Pitiable, for Biffy did not ask for the lupine afterlife, but he must learn to accept it.”

Lord Akeldama’s perfect mouth twisted slightly.

“I am given to understand there is a matter of control. He must learn to master the shift rather than allow it to master him. Until he does, there are all sorts of restrictions. He cannot go out during the day or he may be permanently damaged, he must be kept near silver for simply ages around the moon, and no sweet basil within smelling distance. It’s all quite tragic.”

Lord Akeldama stepped back and then spoke as though she had never answered his question. “Ah, well, I must bid you adieu, my dearest girl. I have my own toilette to see to. There is a most licentious music hall show opening this very evening, and I have a mind to attend in full regalia.” He made his way toward the door in the sweeping manner much favored by an operatic villain when exiting stage left.

Lady Maccon was not fooled.

“My lord.” Alexia’s voice was soft and gentle, or as soft and as gentle as she could make it, being not a woman generally in command of such feminine wiles. “On our subject of brokenheartedness, should I now be saying poor Lord Akeldama?”

The vampire left without dignifying that with a reply.

Lady Maccon lowered the balcony drawbridge and made her way into Woolsey’s town home and down the stairs. Walking a gangplank when one cannot see one’s feet was a tad nerve-racking, but Alexia Maccon was a woman of forthright character and firm principle, not to be defeated by a mere fat belly. She encountered Felicity, obviously recently returned from one of her unmentionable jaunts, for she was once more attired in knitwear. They had no chance for idle conversation, thank goodness, for the house was in a veritable uproar.

Still, Felicity would not allow Alexia to pass without some commentary. “Sister! What is that tremendous ruckus in the back parlor?”

“Felicity, you did know, when you prevailed upon my hospitality, that this was the den of werewolves, did you not?”

“Yes, but to behave like animals? Surely that’s not polite.”

Lady Maccon narrowed her eyes, tilted her head, and gave her sister a look and the time to contemplate what she had just said.

Felicity sputtered. “You mean to say? Changed! Here! In town? How unspeakably shameful!” She turned to walk with her sister back down the stairs. “May I see?”

Lady Maccon wondered if she did not prefer the cuttingly nasty Felicity of previous incarnations.

“No, you most certainly may not! Really, what has gotten into you of late? You are not at all yourself.”