They meandered further into the garden, leaving pond and society behind. The grounds were full of exotic plants of strange shapes. There was steam-powered mechanical statuary as well, built to resemble animals or many-limbed gods, but capable only of dancing a pattern over and over, like the ballerina in a musical box. Here and there monkeys chattered abuse and hurled projectiles at them.

“They don’t think much of werewolves,” explained Professor Lyall.

Prim and Rue raised their parasols in defence. Nuts and small hard fruit made harmonious drumming noises as they bounced harmlessly off the taut cloth.

Rue said, “Well, Uncle?”

“I only wanted to say, Miss Rue, that the pack and I are at your disposal. Sidheag can be grumpy but she knows her duty to queen and country or we wouldn’t be stationed here. If you are acting under the auspices of any of your parents in their formal governmental roles, we will aid you by any means necessary.”

Rue was startled by such an offer. “Why, thank you very much.”

Professor Lyall bowed. “And I am, most particularly, your servant.”

“You trust me more than she does – why is that?”

“I’ve received several letters over the years extolling your virtues.”

There was a mild despondency to his tone. Again, Rue sensed deeper troubles with his connection to the London Pack.

“Why does my niece think I am here to force Kingair back to London?”

“A bargain was struck, debts need to be paid. She has been waiting for the summons for years now. It has been longer than any of us expected.”

“Oh, indeed?”

“Your mother’s presence, I think. Amazing woman, your mother. She changes everything she touches, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, yes? What kind of everything do you mean exactly?”

“Fate, one might say. And you, little one, are you the same? I have so many questions. Have you mastered your metanatural state? I have greatly missed the opportunity to learn the scientific details as you grow. How does the shift feel for you? What is it like to be a vampire one moment and werewolf the next? If you touch both simultaneously can you be both at once?” Academic curiosity must be how he had earned the moniker professor. He was also obviously trying to divert her attention.

“Please, professor, why is Lady Kingair needed in London?”

“Ah, no. It’s me they need.”

Rue rocked back slightly. “What?”

The reserved man shook his head in refusal and apology. “If your parents did not tell you, it’s not my place.”

A horrible thought occurred to Rue. “Are you, by chance, the negotiator? Is that why you need to speak to me alone? Are you representing Miss Sekhmet and her interests?” She hoped it wasn’t the case, for that would mean the werewolves were acting against her father the vampire. Two supernatural interests at odds was never a good thing. Whole empires had crumbled because of it.

Professor Lyall arched an eyebrow. “Sekhmet? The Egyptian goddess?”

Rue was relieved by his confusion. Right then, so far, purple dresses notwithstanding, they had yet to meet Miss Sekhmet’s contact for the other side of the tea situation. “Never mind,” said Rue.

Professor Lyall was calm in the face of mystery. He said only, “Little one, the purpose of this conversation is merely to say that I am here if you need to call upon a werewolf.” He gestured, without rancour, to his bare forearm. “In any capacity you require, metanatural. Any capacity at all. You understand?”

Rue inhaled in shock. It was the first time a werewolf had ever offered to share his form without question or restriction. Usually, she had to steal supernatural shape from a reluctant donor and apologise for it later. She found his offer touching.

“Thank you very much, Uncle Lyall. I am honoured, but I hope that won’t be necessary.”

The Beta smiled. “As do I, Miss Rue, as do I.” With another small bow he glided off, leaving Rue, Primrose, and Quesnel slightly dumbfounded.

They watched his slight form disappear through the trees, dodging monkey projectiles with supernatural swiftness.

“Did he just offer what I think he offered?” asked Primrose.

Rue nodded, eyes wide.

“What an odd little man,” said Prim. “Nice, but odd.”

“He seems very capable,” replied Rue. “I like him.”

Quesnel, being French, picked up on emotions. “He seemed rather sad.” It was an oddly serious thing for him to say and he shrugged it off with, “Beautifully tied cravat for a werewolf.”

They followed said werewolf’s retreating form, conscious that they had been neglecting their collective social duties and had left Percy, of all people, to take on the lion’s share of the obligation.

They found the redhead holding his own in a spectacular manner. Surrounded by eligible young ladies, and a few who were not at all eligible, Percy was waxing loquacious on the breeding habits of chilli peppers. He was explaining, with the comestibles on offer as his sample specimens, why ingesting spicy food caused overheating of the body, heart palpitations, and occasional irregularities in the magnetic energies of the human brain – particularly in impressionable young ladies.

Said impressionable young ladies were duly impressed by this lecture.

The hostess was looking acutely embarrassed at the very idea that she had included truly spicy native cuisine in her offerings.

Percy caught sight of them coming up. “Here, let me demonstrate – try this.” He held out a small bit of flatbread, dipped into a reddish curry.